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A BLUEGRASS CAVALIER 


EDWIN CARLILE LITSEY 
























: 


. 























Bluegrass Cavalier 


BY 

EDWIN CARLILE LITSEY 

Author of 

“The Race of the Swift,” “The Love Story of Abner Stone,” 
“The Man from Jericho,” etc., etc. 



Philadelphia 


DORRANCE Publishers 



Copyright 1922 
Dorrance & Company Inc * 


‘ V 



j 

MAR 31 1922 



PRINTED IN THE UNITED STATES OF AMERICA 

§)CI.A659376 ' 



Jbhtcatum 

To all those who believe that Romance is 
not dead, and who love a tale of high 
adventure: this booh is offered. 



Otr- 

S 

£ 





# 


CONTENTS 

CHAPTER PAGE 

I. Containing the most unreasonable demand of 
Colo / nel Shadrach Brentley, and how Saul, his 

son, met it . 11 

II. Telling of a farewell by a certain woodland spring, 

and of a voiv as rash as that of Jephthah . 21 

III. Becording other leave-takings: friendly, stormy, 

tender. And launching Saul upon his adventure 34 

IV. Revealing a dvmfoundmg discovery which comes 

with the dawn, and introducing a philosopher 

and a bear .. . 47 

V. Having to do with a certain ferryman, with a 
trainer of horses, and ending with a perplexing 

denouement . 60 

VI. Concerning a moon-eyed horse and a star-eyed girl 70 

VII. Relating the most diverting conversation of two 
young people, and entering the tavern of The 
Leaning Stump . 78 

VIII. Conveying the reader to the inn of The Limping 
Dog, where he is presented to divers personalities, 
and bringing into the tale a gentleman from 

Philadelphia . 100 

IX. Advancing the story to a time when honest folk are 

abed . 116 

X. Describing a stealthy attack in the night hours, and 
showing how the gentleman from Philadelphia 
and our hero joined hands in a certain quest. ... 127 

XI. Presenting a fair damsel in durance vile; confiding 
to the reader the history of one Sis Tomperby, 
a hag, the which touches our story vitally, and 

ending with a voice calling in the night . 137 

XII. Reciting how Little Sam Pottle arrived upon the 
scene at a most opportune moment, and tran¬ 
scribing the revelation of Uncle Jacky Bibb.... 148 

XIII. Being from its very nature unlucky, tells of a drop 

of bitterness which falls into Dorothy’s cup of 
love ... 163 

XIV. Informing the reader that love is the strangest thing 

in life except a woman, and bringing our brave 
hero and his equally brave friend to the scene of 

their search for a damsel in distress .. 176 

XV. Proceeding with the plot in a suitable manner, and 
ending, as did Chapter Eleven, with a voice call¬ 
ing in the night . 190 













CONTENTS 


CHAPTER 


PAGE 


XVI. Bidding the gentle reader hack to the inn of The 
Leaning Stump, and setting down faithfully a 
most interesting dialogue between the master 
thereof and another , who was saddler and 
preacher in one . 

XVII. Beginning in much mental and bodily stress for 
two young gentlemen of the tale, embracing a 
period of glory wialloyed, and culminating in a 
billet-doux of much import which came near to 
being forgotten . 

XVIII. Sitting beside still waters with two human derelicts 

XIX. Recounting the peculiar home-coming of Uncle 
Bacchus; taking a brief glimpse into a young 
maiden’s heart; and hearing sounds of portent 
from the highway . 

XX. Continuing the preceding one naturally , and mak¬ 
ing as clear as may be how a certain big bandit 
sought to gain gold to which he had no claim. 
Likewise mentioning a solitary horseman who rode 
with valor, and chronicling a conversation which 
some mayhap will not understand even though it 
is spoken in fair English . 

XXI. Harking back to the lonely highway leading to the 
cliffs; viewing as interested spectators an adven¬ 
ture on the road, and leaving hero-number-two 
without an inch of ground to stand upon the 
while our Saul broods on sundry matters . 273 

XXII. Confiding to all who care to know how a Chevalier 
of France made love to his lady in a setting 
unique in affairs of the heart, and drawing near 
to the mystery of the hidden chamber . 284 

XXIII. Showing how a collie dog can be of service in an 
entirely unexpected way; making clear the secret 
of Margot’s prison-place, and concluding in a 
manner which the narrator earnestly hopes the 


reader will approve . 294 

XXIV. Bringing to our hero a severe blow, and asking all 
who would listen to lovers’ twaddle to go moon¬ 
ing with them in an orchard all abloom . 305 

XXV. Ending our story happily; and trusting the reader 
will agree with the author that a certain Will 
Shakespeare wrote passing wisely when he 
averred, ” All’s well that ends well.” . 316 


202 


215 

234 


245 


257 












A BLUEGRASS CAVALIER 


PLACE: KENTUCKY 


PERIOD: 1850 
PEOPLE OF THE STORY: 

Col. Shadrach Brentley, Landowner and Gentleman Farmer 
Emmeline Brentley, Spinster, His Sister 
Saul Brentley, His Son and Hero of the Story 
Capt. Jonathan Pembroke, Farmer 

Dorothy Pembroke, His Daughter and Heroine of the Story 

Mehitabel Pembroke, His Old Maid Sister 

Jinsy Galory, Waiting Maid at McClair’s Tavern 

Margot LaTour, Friend to Dorothy, Kidnapped 

Abe, Negro Servant to Saul 

Sime, Negro Servant to Col. Brentley 

Mordecai Fode, Tramp Philosopher 

Gypsy (or Jews-harp) George, Ferryman 

Cadwallader Hull, Landlord at the Sign of The Leaning Stump 

Mack Leek, Bandit Leader 

Georgey Snipper, His Satellite 

Deef Dick, Stage Driver 

Big Sam Pottle, Drover 

Little Sam Pottle, His Son, Drover 

Sis Tomperby, a Hag 

Manse Higbee, Landlord of The Limping Dog 
Moll Higbee, Landlady of The Limping Dog 
Uncle Bacchus, Negro Servant to Capt. Pembroke 
Noey Mole, Saddler and Preacher 

Gaston Chavannes, of Philadelphia, Dandy and Good Fellow, In 
Love with Margot 

Uncle Jacky Bibb, Local Autocrat and Arbiter 
Ephri-ham Stout, Bogus Englishman 

and 

Roderick Dhu, Saul’s Collie Dog 
Paddyfoot, Mordecai Fode’s Pet Bear 


A BLUEGRASS CAVALIER 

i 

Containing the most unreasonable demand of 
Colonel Shadrach Brentley, and how Said, his 
son, met it. 

Colonel Shadrach Brentley was the master 
of a thousand acres of Kentucky soil, woodland, 
meadow, and tilled fields. The old brick home with 
its colonial porticoes rested upon an eminence 
facing the river, whose life-giving waters had 
from time immemorial flowed through the bottom 
lands of this estate. 

It was on a certain morning in late April in the 
year 1850 that Colonel Shad sat by his desk in 
the front east room, which was the library of the 
mansion. Scarcely sun-up when we find him thus, 
his soldierly form slouched in an easy chair, his 
face twisted with pain and worry, one swathed 
foot resting upon a pillow-topped hassock. For 
high living had exacted its penalty, and the twin 
devils gout and dyspepsia had well-nigh driven 
Colonel Shad crazy, as they had robbed him of 
all peace. 

Crushing the newspaper which he had been 
reading and giving a wordless snarl of rage, the 
master seized his crook-handled cane and thumped 
viciously upon the floor. Followed the hurried 
shuffling of feet, and a white-headed negro ap¬ 
peared in the doorway. 

“Yas’r, boss? Yas’r?” 

11 


12 


A BLUEGRASS CAVALIER 


“Where’s that boy of mine?” 

“ ’Pears lak he ain’t done riz yit, suh-” 

“Not up? Then get him np! Tell him to come 
here at once.” 

“Yas’r, boss—’bleege to yo’!” 

“Sime!”—as the darky turned to go—“what 
time did that young fellow get in last night? I 
didn’t hear him, and I should have, for it was 
damn little sleep I got.” 

“He come in de back do’, suh, an’ please yo’,” 
replied Sime, cautiously. 

“What time?” thundered Colonel Shad, bring¬ 
ing his stick down on the floor and glaring at his 
body-servant. 

“Yes’r, boss! De chickens’s crowin’, suh-’’ 

“For midnight or for day? Don’t dare lie to 
me! I know you’d take a beating for that young 
man, but-” 

He stopped, writhed in his chair, then sank his 
forehead to his hand. 

“Midnight or daylight, Sime?” he repeated, 
wearily. 

* ‘ Dey’s crowin ’ fo ’ de mawnin, ’ Marse Kuhn ’L ’ ’ 

Silence in the big, square room. The snowy 
curtains at the windows blew gently inward, and 
rippled back soundlessly to the embrasured case¬ 
ments. In the plum tree without a joyous catbird 
was welcoming the sun. 

Colonel Shad raised his head. The fire had 
faded from his gray eyes, and his lids looked 
heavy. He gazed straight at the old darky and 
asked, quietly: 

“Was he drunk?” 

Sime’s hands were gripped in front of him, 
and his head was bowed. His answer was low 
and thick, but the listening ears were keen. 

“I holp ’im up de stairs, suh, ’n’ tuk he clo’es 





THE DEMAND OF COLONEL SHAD 13 


off. He ’peared kin’ o’ tah’d ’n’ let down, lak 
he’d been ridin ’ after de fox, maybe. ’ ’ 

‘/Yes, he’s after a vixen, Sime, and he’s been 
roistering again np at Hillsboro. Go wake him, 
and tell him to come to me at once.” 

Motionless, except for a rigor now and then 
begotten by a twinge from his swollen toe, the 
master sat gazing out the window and down the 
broad lawn till his vision caught the majestic 
sweep of the river. This view had been an anti¬ 
dote for all lesser worries in days gone by, but 
now its customary effect failed the irascible, 
broken old man. Within the past six months a 
great change had come upon him. Accustomed to 
life in the open, when failing health, accompanied 
by tormenting aches, chained him to the house his 
nerve gave down. His wonted jovial, though 
somewhat brusque manner changed to petulance, 
and he was often like a peevish child. Of later 
weeks a hobby had possessed him. For a number 
of days in succession the newspapers had printed 
the record of several unfortunate marriages, and 
Colonel Shad had all at once leaped to the con¬ 
clusion that the present generation was decadent 
and of no value to society whatever. It was 
nothing but the vagary of a sick mind, but it was 
distressingly real to the man who cherished it, 
and it became so that he would search the columns 
of the daily press for stories of faithless wives and 
runaway girls. His morbid interest in these mat¬ 
ters was heightened by the fact that he was rich, 
in wretched health, and had an only son strongly 
inclined toward the company of the opposite sex. 
The fear that this son would be roped in by some 
rosy-faced wayside wench had grown upon him 
until it completely engrossed him. He had brood¬ 
ed upon the subject hour after hour, striving be- 



14 


A BLUEGRASS CAVALIER 


tween gout-pains to find some way out of his 
manufactured trouble. At length he had hit upon 
a plan—a cruel plan, indeed, and unworthy of a 
father who loved his son. And Shadrach Brent- 
ley loved Saul, the child whom his lost Clarissa 
had borne. 

Yes, he was a boy to be proud of. The master 
admitted that to his inner consciousness. A bit 
wayward, forsooth, a little too fond of tarrying 
at roadside inns, but the slaves worshipped him, 
and Aunt Emmeline’s eyes had a trick of turning 
moist whenever she watched him swing to the back 
of his big bay horse and go galloping away. ‘ ‘ Too 
good for the company he keeps!” she would mur¬ 
mur; “but where could company be found his 
equal ? Maybe at the court of kings !’ 1 And this 
doting, foolish maiden aunt, the Colonel’s sister, 
who kept the domestic machinery running smooth¬ 
ly at the mansion, would dab each pale, patrician 
lid with a wad of linen and lace and lavender, and 
turn to her duties with a little sigh. 

A boy to be proud of. A thirty-year-old boy, it 
is true, standing six-foot-three in his socks. Col¬ 
onel Shad mused on and on, and lo! after a while 
the ugly lines which many agonizing moments had 
ruthlessly cut upon his features seemed to melt 
away, and in their place bloomed a sweet smile. 
He had firmly resolved to hurt Clarissa’s son, but 
it was for the boy’s good. In childhood days he 
had used the rod once in a while, pinning his faith 
to the clearly expressed dictum of a certain wise 
man of old. And now he would save the young 
man, though the treatment were heroic. But 
what he conceived to be his duty he would never 
shirk, though his own heart broke in executing it. 
The master did not know that his mind was ill 
as well as his body. In other days he would have 



THE DEMAND OF COLONEL SHAD 15 


spoken to Emmeline of so momentous a proceed¬ 
ing, but this plan which he had developed had been 
carefully locked away in his breast; had been 
shielded with that peculiar cunning which often 
attaches to a mind not entirely well. 

Enter now Saul Brentley, half dressed, half 
awake, his smooth face glowing from the towel 
which had followed the cold water; his eyes 
opening and closing laboriously, his light brown 
hair tumbling over his forehead. 

“Mercy, dad!” he grumbled, his lips twisted to 
a rueful smile. “What on earth ’s the stew? I 
could ’a’ killed that nigger o’ yours!” 

Standing straddle-legged in the middle of the 
floor, he doubled his fists, flexed his arms, then 
shot them out and up with a prodigious yawn. 

“Looks like a gladiator!” shot through the 
father’s mind. Aloud: 4 ‘ Sit down, Saul. ’ ’ 

With wonted thoughtfulness the young man 
came forward and returned to the Colonel's lap 
the paper which had fallen to the floor. Then he 
dropped in a careless attitude on the arm of a 
heavy chair and saddled his clamped fingers 
across one updrawn kn'ee. 

“How are you feeling this morning?” he asked, 
pleasantly, after a few moments of silence, which 
the Colonel had occupied in staring grimly at his 
bound-up foot. 

“Devflish! Hellish! My body is tortured and 

my mind is tormented-” He broke off suddenly 

to turn his gaze full on his son. “I had hoped, 
Saul, that you would settle down before I was 
out of the way.’ ’ 

Saul began to flip the heel of the slipper on his 
suspended foot up and down with his toes. He 
also found it convenient to watch this pastime, 



16 


A BLUEGRASS CAVALIER 


while an old-fashioned blush settled on his cheeks 
and temples. At last: 

“I guess Sime told you-” 

“Not until I compelled him. He is loyal to 
you, and tried to mitigate the incident. ’’ 

‘ ‘ It isn’t often I do that way,’ ’ replied the son; 
“and of course I regret it later. I got in with 
the boys, and you know a fellow can’t be a prig.” 

Colonel Shad’s long, white fingers slipped under 
the edge of the newspaper as he said: 

“I don’t condemn you for these occasional 
sprees, Saul, much as I deplore them. Work on 
the place has gone forward most satisfactorily 
under your supervision since I was compelled to 
give it up, and I gladly grant you full credit for 
this. But there is another matter which annoys 
me, which has harassed me to the point of exas¬ 
peration. ’ ’ 

His thin, aristocratic face became convulsed 
with pain, and he drew one shoulder up. 

“This damned gout is killing me!” he hissed 
between clenched teeth. “That foot ’d come off 
if I had my way! ’ ’ 

Saul’s face clouded in quick sympathy. 

“It’s a shame, dad, for you to suffer like that. 
But Doctor Van Wyck tells me he thinks the worst 
of this attack is over. ’ ’ 

“Van Wyck’s a plain Dutch fool!” stormed 
Colonel Shad, dropping his head back to its cush¬ 
ioned rest and breathing heavily. “It’s like knives 
and needles,” he whispered. 

Young Brentley slid down into the chair and 
waited, legs extended and feet crossed. 

The old man’s eyes had fallen shut, and his son 
regarded him with a steadfast, searching scrutiny. 
Undoubtedly he was breaking. His frame was 
more attenuated, his cheeks were thinner, and the 



THE DEMAND OF COLONEL SHAD 17 


slight puffiness under each eye had a bluish tinge. 

“Another matter,’’ repeated the Colonel, very 
suddenly, again leveling his gaze at his son. “ You 
know, of course, the extent of this plantation, and 
its approximate value. You also have an inti¬ 
mate knowledge of my financial affairs, and are 
aware that, for this section of the state, I am con¬ 
sidered rich. All of this, naturally, will revert to 
you at my death, with the exception of a suitable 
provision for my sister, who is wholly dependent. ” 

Saul inclined his head slightly, and replied in a 
peculiarly changed, softened voice: 

6 ‘ Aunt Emmeline should never want as long as 
I lived, sir.” 

The Colonel swallowed, ran his mustaches rap¬ 
idly between finger and thumb, and continued 
after clearing his throat. 

“The mutual affection existing between you is 
well known to me, and is, I must say, beautiful. 
But it is possible that in after years some external 
influence might be brought to bear which would 
alienate you from your aunt.” 

“I don’t think I understand,” said Saul. “At 
present I cannot imagine such a condition. ’ ’ 

The wraith of a smile touched the Colonel’s 
lips, and was gone. 

“We are approaching the possibility, my boy. 
It is useless for me to tell you that there never 
has been a mesalliance in our family’s history. 
This knowledge constituted part of your rearing, 
and it has been too deeply instilled for you to 
forget it. Now tales have come to me of a certain 
sly wench, Jinsy by name, who serves in the tap- 
room of McClair’s tavern on the Hillsboro road. 
And the stories I hear link her name with the 
name of a blue-blooded gentleman, Saul Brentley. 
Have I been misinformed?” 



18 A BLUEGRASS CAVALIER 


A second and deeper blush dyed the young fel¬ 
low’s cheeks as he answered, steadily: 

“What have you heard, dad? You know you’ll 
get the truth from me.” 

A quick look of pride dawned and faded on 
Colonel Shad’s face at the last sentence. 

“It has come to me, Saul, that you are with her 
often, frequently at night, and alone. If these 
things are true, they point to but one conclusion. 
I would be glad if you would tell me your exact 
relation to this—person. ’ ’ 

Now the heir to the Brentley acres and the 
Brentley fortune moved uncomfortably in his seat, 
and felt for his pipe. Not having his coat on, he 
failed to find it. So he thrust his hands in his 
trousers’ pockets, and answered: 

“She’s a wonderfully pretty girl, dad, with the 
most fetching mannerisms you ever saw. She’s 
been at McClair’s only a few months—came from 
some western county, and is some sort of half¬ 
cousin or other to old Sandy. I stopped one hot 
day for a mug of ale. I was in a hurry, and didn’t 
get down. She brought the foaming cup to my 
saddle, and I could scarcely drink for surprise. 
She smiled at me and, sir, I’m no hooded monk; 
I smiled back. One thing’s led to another. I’m 
in love with the jade, dad; I’ve kissed her and told 
her so. I’ve no intention of marrying her. That’s 
the truth; all of it. ’ ’ 

“It seems quite enough.” 

Keen and cold the words came, and Colonel 
Shad’s eyes were hard and bright. 

“Will you kindly tell me what are your inten¬ 
tions, then?” he continued. 

Saul rubbed one knee against the other. 

“Why, as to that, I don’t know that I have 



THE DEMAND OF COLONEL SHAD 19 


any!” he exclaimed, lifting eyes of honest gray 
in a straightforward look. 

“There can be bnt two possible conclusions to 
an affair of this kind”—the father’s voice had 
grown metallic—“marriage or disgrace. Either 
would be intolerable to me, and I should think a 
sense of your position as my son would render 
each out of the question for you.” 

“I’ve no idea of allowing either,” replied Saul, 
a little doggedly, beginning to frown. “I don’t 
suppose you ever-” 

Colonel Shad’s fist crashed down on the lid 
of his writing desk. 

“No impudence, sir!” he thundered. “I’ve 
brought you here this morning to have an under¬ 
standing, not to be hectored. I know your hot¬ 
headed blood. You got it from me, and I’m will¬ 
ing to make allowances, but I’m damned if a bar- 
wench shall be mistress of this estate, nor shall 
my son and heir appear in a court of law to defend 
a bastardy suit! You must promise me to leave 
the girl alone henceforth. . . . Your word is 

enough, ’ ’ he added, in milder tones, as the young 
man got up swiftly and walked with clenched fists 
and scowling forehead to one of the broad win¬ 
dows. 

“What if I refuse?” he asked, his voice low 
and thick. 

“Everything will go to your aunt.” 

“Can Jorkins run the plantation?” 

‘ ‘ What do you mean ? ’ ’ 

1 6 Simply that if I yield to your demand I must 
get away.” 

“Good God!” muttered Colonel Shad. “Has 
it gone that far?” 

The tall figure at the window wheeled with 
squared jaws. 



20 


A BLUEGRASS CAVALIER 


“You’ve been there!” retorted Saul, an open 
note of defiance ringing through his words. “I’ve 
heard it all. What did you do when your plebeian 
Venus stretched you her arms and held up her 
lips?” 

A quick spasm of pain and rage shook the old 
man in the chair, and he lifted his cane as though 
to cast it, but the next instant he groaned, col¬ 
lapsed and fell back, breathing hard. 

A moment later the boy had one of the thirf, 
nervous hands in both his own, and was bending 
over it in contrition. 

“Forgive me, dad; forgive me! I’m sorry. I 
licked the villain who repeated to me the tale, 
and told him he lied. And he did. It was cruel 
and wrong for me to speak that way to you, and 
I beg your pardon. But”—he sank on one knee 
and bowed his head till his face was hidden—“I 
love Jinsy so I can’t see any future without her!” 

Presently the Colonel spoke. 

“I think Jorkins can manage for six months. 
He’s had good training. Another thing now, my 
boy, and that quickly, for this interview has 
proven too much. Wherever you go, promise me 
this: that you will marry no woman until you have 
my consent. ’ ’ 

There followed a long, long silence in the oak- 
panelled room. 

Then Saul Brentley got upon his feet and stood 
before his sire. A sort of understanding had come 
to him. This was not the father of his youth and 
early manhood. This was a sick, querulous old 
man with a hobby, which must be humored. 

“They’re hard terms, dad, for a fellow with 
red blood in him, but I’ll try them. There’s my 
hand on it. ’ ’ 



n 


Telling of a farewell by a certain woodland 
spring, and of a vow as rash as that of Jephthah. 

Aunt Emmeline, a spare little lady of im¬ 
maculate appearance, readily noted the perturbed 
manner of her idol when he made his entrance 
into the breakfast room a half hour later. She 
was busy with a bowl of violets at the huge 
mahogany sideboard when she heard his step, but 
a glance at his ruffled countenance sent her flut¬ 
tering to the coffee urn, where her spiritually 
slender fingers engaged themselves in his interest. 

Saul returned her sprightly greeting mechani¬ 
cally, and sat staring at the table-cloth. 

“What is it, newew?” chirped the old lady, in 
earnest solicitude, her corkscrew ringlets bobbing 
at her ears. “Didn’t you sleep well, or did Shad- 
rach get you up too soon? I was surprised at 
him, sending for you at such an early hour. ’ ’ 

She held a laden sugar-spoon poised delicately 
over her cup, and beamed her adoration. 

Saul sighed, shook himself together, and began 
to carve the meat. 

“I’m going away, Aunt Emmy,’’ he said. 

‘ ‘ Going away! This time of the year ? ’ ’ 

The bird-like hand came down to the edge of 
the table, and the bowl of the spoon rested upon 
the saucer ’s rim. 

“ Yes’m.” 

“Where, pray?” 

“I don’t know.” 


21 


22 


A BLUEGRASS CAVALIER 


The spinster gasped, then slowly cascaded the 
sugar into her tea. 

“Has your early call upon Shadrach anything 
to do with this sudden determination ?’’ 

“Everything.” 

‘ 1 And you had not given it a thought until you 
had seen him?” 

“No’m.” 

Aunt Emmeline lifted a tight-lipped, flashing 
visage to the black-faced, white-coated image 
standing behind Saul’s chair. 

“Jupe, go to the kitchen. I’ll ring if I want 
you. ’ ’ 

Jupe ducked and vanished. 

Instantly it seemed as though a magic hand 
had passed over Aunt Emmeline’s face, for the 
stern lineaments which had sent the servant scut¬ 
tling away turned at once into features holding a 
tender, pathetic beauty. 

“Nevvew, I hope you will speak quite plainly 
to me,” she said, gently. 

Saul fidgeted, and gulped his hot coffee. 

“As you know, Shadrach is not himself,’’ the 
caressing voice went on. “He has suffered so 
much I really think his mind is affected, at times. 
You have not—have not—quarrelled, nevvew?” 

There was a perceptible catch in the last sen¬ 
tence, and the young man raised his eyes. 

“A sort of quarrel, yes; but we parted in full 
understanding. ’ ’ 

“As friends?—Good friends? As father and 
son should?” 

Followed a clicking and clacking of knife and 
fork on china from Saul’s end of the table, and 
a more refined, barely audible clink now and then 
from Aunt Emmeline’s. The spinster’s favorite 
cat took this occasion to leap into her lap, where, 



A FAREWELL AND A VOW 


23 


purring, she rubbed a silken side against the child¬ 
less bosom, and waved a curling tail against the 
white, sharp chin. The fuzzy tail-tip tickled, and 
Aunt Emmeline calmly brushed it down. She 
sipped a few drops of tea, found it too sweet, 
and poured more into the cup. 

Saul finished eating, pushed his plate back, and 
folding his arms looked across at the dainty old 
lady he truly loved. 

“I don’t think dad has treated me exactly right, 
but throughout I have tried to keep in mind he is 
my father, and to remember his state of health. 
But it seems to me he is interfering unwarrant¬ 
ably in my affairs. He forgets that he was thirty 
once. ’ ’ 

. The bright eyes watching him saw his temples 
tinge abruptly, and the acute mind back of the 
bright eyes at once scented romance. 

“If you care to tell me about it, nevvew, I shall 
respect your confidence. Shadrach is not dissatis- 
. fied with your management? ’ ’ 

“Oh, no!” with a slight gesture of dismissal. 

“He realizes that young men must—er—get in 
late some nights ? ’ ’ 

“Yes, he’s reasonable enough on those points.” 

“Then, nevvew, it must be a—a-” 

“A girl, Aunt Emmy! Say it!” 

“I can’t think of any of our neighbors’ daugh¬ 
ters to whom he could in reason object. There’s 
Judge Bunker’s Sallie and-” 

But Saul was on his feet. 

4 4 Good heaven! Hush, Aunt Emmy, and let me 
tell you. You may side with dad, but it’s my 
opinion that when people’s blood gets too infern¬ 
ally blue it’s liable to turn black. It needs an 
occasional infusion of the common, healthy red 



24 


A BLUEGRASS CAVALIER 


variety to keep life in it. Anyway, here is how 
matters stand with me.' ’ 

Then he told her of his interview with his 
father, and the latter’s hard demand. With the 
air of one who had been abused he told it, the 
inevitable arrogance of headstrong youth embit¬ 
tering his quick words, and the memory of the 
winsome waiting-maid at McClair’s tavern heat¬ 
ing his blood in rebellion. 

Aunt Emmeline listened to the tale with a very 
^proper demeanor, alternately stroking the cat and 
sipping her third cup of tea. 

44 Now what would you have done, in mercy's 
name?” concluded the wrathful Saul, taking a 
position directly beside the diminutive spinster, 
and hurling the question at her defiantly. 

“A most difficult problem, nevvew, I must 
agree,” evaded Aunt Emmeline. 

‘ * Do you blame me V 1 pursued young Brentley. 
“I want to know what you think.” 

‘ ‘ I must say I would deplore any entanglement 
of this sort,” was the dignified reply “A young 
man of your birth, and blood, and prospects, 
should seek a wife among the very highest circles. 
A mesalliance would kill Shadrach, and would, I 
think, break my heart too.” 

Saul wheeled abruptly, walked the length of the 
room and back again. 

‘ 4 Would you and dad have me marry some aris¬ 
tocratic snob with indigo water in her veins in¬ 
stead of blood, and he miserable the rest of my 
life?—sacrifice myself to your family gods?” 

His voice had fallen, hut now a hard, stubborn 
note rang through it. 

4 ‘ I shouldn’t put it that way, nevvew. The elect 
are not necessarily anemic. Much as I dislike to 



A FAREWELL AND A VOW 


25 


take sides against you, it seems to me that you 
are making a mistake. ’ ’ 

“Very well, Aunt Emmy. But I had hoped for 
sympathy from you, at least. I have promised 
dad not to marry without his knowledge and con¬ 
sent. To keep my word, I am going away. ’’ 

“ When?” 

“ To-night .’ 7 

Aunt Emmeline quietly placed the cat upon the 
floor, arose, and put a vein-marked hand upon 
the young man’s arm. 

i 1 Why did you allow yourself to get in this en¬ 
tanglement, my boy?” she asked, her voice un¬ 
steady. 

Saul made no response to the caress. 

“It’s not an entanglement,” he replied. “Don’t 
be deceived. I’m simply in love with the girl, and 
she says that she loves me. An ordinary, every¬ 
day occurrence; nothing to wonder about.” 

“But your family!—did you have no thought of 
us?” 

‘ 4 To be candid—no. ’ ’ 

Aunt Emmeline’s suspiciously white, even teeth 
clamped her lip for a moment. Then : 

“I’m very sorry,” she said, quite low, and 
turned away. 

Saul did not see the tears which rolled from her 
eyes an instant later. Had he seen, most prob¬ 
ably he would not have cared, for his heart was 
sore. 

Presently he was sitting at his desk in his room, 
pen in hand. For a moment only he thought, with 
the staff poised. Then, firmly, he wrote these 
words: 



26 


A BLUEGRASS CAVALIER 


“Dearest Jinsy: 

Meet me at the spring in the hollow, 
under the big beech, at four o’clock. I 
will be busy till then. It’s to say good¬ 
bye, so don’t fail me. 

Saul.” 

This he despatched at once by his body-servant. 
The remainder of the forenoon was spent in at¬ 
tending to some delayed correspondence, and in 
packing up. A thought struck him as his man, 
after carefully brushing and folding a fashionably 
cut suit, was preparing to place it in the trunk 
already nearly full. 

“Hold on, Abe!” 

Saul spoke shortly from where he sat on the 
edge of the bed. 

“ Yas’r, marse.—Ain’t yo’ gwi take dis?” 

The darky held the garment up before him in 
wide-eyed incredulity. 

The young master did not reply jat once. A 
far-away look had come to his eyes and the faint¬ 
est smile to his lips. He appeared to be musing 
on pleasant things. The moments passed in sil¬ 
ence, Abe standing mystified with the wonderful 
suit extended in front of him, and Saul gazing 
straight through the wall of the house into the 
future. 

“W;hat time is the moon up?” he asked, speak¬ 
ing as one half tranced. 

e Abe darted him a swift look of suspicion. What 
ailed young marse ? 

“ ’Bout sundown, suh.” 

“Then put all that frumpery back where it be¬ 
longs. Instead, get plenty of clean linen, my hunt¬ 
ing and working clothes, and roll them ana strap 
them as tightly as you can. Then make a second 



A FAREWELL AND A VOW 


27 


bundle with food in it—all the cold stuff you can 
find. Leave them both on the floor here where I 
can get them. And Abe, look here.” He stood 
erect and leveled his forefinger at the open- 
mouthed slave. “Don’t say a word about this. 
I’m coming back in a few months, and if you 

blab-” Giving a warning nod, the speaker 

left the room. 

After a dinner where conversation was limited 
to the necessary questions and answers, Saul got 
a-horse, and in company with Jorkins made a 
quick tour of the estate. He explained to the 
overseer that unexpected business called him 
away, and that he must shift the management en¬ 
tirely until he returned. If Jorkins smelt a mouse 
he gave no sign, but promised in quiet tones to 
do his best with the farm. He was a steady, reli¬ 
able man past middle age, and was entirely capa¬ 
ble of coping single-handed with the task now 
given him. 

It was nearly four o’clock when Saul swung 
out on the turnpike leading to Hillsboro. Down 
this highway he had come galloping in the. early 
gray of morning a few hours before, swaying in 
his saddle from all-night merrymaking with some 
neighborhood blades, thinking not once of the 
doom that waited him at his journey’s end. He 
wondered with some vexation who had been med¬ 
dling in his affairs? Who could have taken Col¬ 
onel Shad the story of his infatuation with the 
rarest girl the countryside had ever seen ? 6 ‘ But, ’ ’ 
he argued to himself, 4 ‘such things can’t be hid¬ 
den. One can hide murder, theft and arson, but 
let a girl and a man smile upon each other twice, 
and the whole community is buzzing. No use to 
worry about that. But the thing which does 
worry me is—how will this tryst end?” 



28 


A BLUEGRASS CAVALIER 


He gently touched with his spur the ribs be¬ 
neath it, and the bay stretched out toward the 
tavern three miles away. 

In due time our hero, beset by various emotions, 
chiefest of which was a wild desire to feel a warm, 
soft body in his arms, came to a by-road, down 
which he dashed. Pursuing this a quarter of a 
mile, he drew up, flung himself from the saddle, 
and casting his bridle-rein over a stake in the rail 
fence, climbed it an instant later. A hillside cov¬ 
ered with green sod stretched down to a valley 
beneath, which was fringed with trees. Toward 
a certain spreading beech the young man bent his 
steps, his face aglow and his eyes flashing. For 
so, vigorous youth always goes to meet its love. 

Presently he saw her through the screening 
leaves, standing pensively by a rock-walled basin 
where the crystal water of a never failing spring 
bubbled out from the hill’s deep heart. Then for 
a moment he tarried, a-tiptoe with feeling, his 
hands clenched and his sturdy chest heaving. 
Charming indeed she looked in the semi-gloom of 
that cool retreat; a trifle heavy of figure, maybe, 
for classic beauty; her black hair curling about 
her milky neck, her head bent, her hands clasped 
lonesomely. Then suddenly, beneath the ardent 
gaze of her lover she stirred, lifted her head, and 
saw him. 

With a low cry he leaped forward and caught 
her to him. Then for a while was heard only the 
murmur of the tiny stream, Tusses which rapidly 
merged into a long, soundless caress, while over¬ 
head a crested cardinal sang madly of the joys of 
Spring. 

“Oh, Saul!” 

“My Jinsy!” 

Arms strained anew at neck and waist, and the 



A FAREWELL AND A VOW 


29 


girl’s lips hurt under the fervor of his. Then 
her head fell beneath his chin, and a tremor swept 
her. 

“Oh, Saul!” she said again, and the last word 
was a sob. 

“Don’t!” he pleaded, putting his broad palm 
on her cheek and pressing her closer to him. 

“Is it true? . . . What did you mean? 

. . . To say goodbye!” 

“Will you promise to be very brave if I tell 
you? It is hard to say?” 

Thereat she drew back from him as far as his 
encircling arms would allow, and lifted eyes of 
suspicion and dread; black eyes where strange 
gleams battled with the love-light. 

“What do you mean? What has happened? 
Don’t you care any more?” 

Fear had crept to her face, and back of this 
was the shadow of desperation. 

“You are the only girl I have ever loved!” he 
told her, and the passion in his words was too 
plain for her to doubt. ‘ ‘ I have not changed, ’ ’ he 
added, taking her hands in his and searching her 
eyes, “but something has occurred which makes 
it necessary that I should leave you for a time. 
Is your love strong enough to stand a few months’ 
separation ? ’ ’ 

Steadily he held her gaze, and her lids drooped. 

“Iam yours, now and always, ’ ’ she replied then, 
in submissive tones. “I am strong; tell me what 
has come about.” 

At the base of the beech tree the twisted roots, 
partly above ground, had formed a gentle depres¬ 
sion large enough for two, providing these two 
be man and maid, and providing further that they 
love. Here, then, Saul led Jinsy, and seated here, 
his arm around her waist, he told her of Colonel 



30 


A BLUEGRASS CAVALIER 


Shad’s morning summons, and of the consequences 
resulting therefrom. Carefully but truthfully he 
recounted the interview, watching askance the 
maid’s profile all the while to see, if he might, 
how she was receiving it. He dwelt with emphasis 
upon the Colonel’s failing health, how bodily suf¬ 
fering naturally and necessarily reflects upon the 
mind, and endeavored to put his father’s side of 
the question before her in the best light he could. 
When he ceased talking- 

‘ 4 What did he say about me?” demanded Jinsy, 
her brow dark. 

“He don’t know you,” parried Saul. 

She flashed a look at him. 

“He knows about me, and who I am—a waiting- 
girl in a roadside tavern! ’ ’ 

Saul squirmed, and recrossed his extended legs. 

“Did he call me a wench—or something?” de¬ 
fiantly. 

“He didn’t call you a wench,” fibbed Saul. 
“He thinks I should marry some one else.” 

“Who?” 

“Lord knows! Somebody of his own choosing. 
He had no candidate ready. ’ ’ 

“He simply couldn’t see a Brentley wed a 
nameless person who hands out punch and ale to 
high and low alike. And you agreed to this?” 

Saul twisted about till he faced her squarely. 

“Tell me, pray, what would have happened had 
I remained stubborn? I would have been cast 
penniless into the world to make my own way. 
You don’t know Colonel Shad! He would have 
thrown me out as surely as we sit here. How 
would we have fared then, you and I? Would 
you have me sit sodden in the ingle of your tap- 
room? Would you be wedded to a luckless wast¬ 
rel? I am a gentleman, Jinsy. 1 was born to 



A FAREWELL AND A YOW 


31 


command, and not to serve. Should dad forsake 
me now, I would become a rake! ’ ’ 

Something in his impetuous manner and fiery 
speech caused a reaction in the mind of the girl. 
Her big black eyes dimmed, and with a. short, 
shivering sob she threw her arms around his neck 
and pulled him to her. 

“I was afraid that you was just tired of me and 
was tryin’ to get away!” she confessed. ‘ 4 For¬ 
give me, Saul; but—but—I love you so!” 

He returned the pressure of her arms, and his 
face grew tender. 

“Tired of you?” he repeated, wonderingly. 
“Does one grow tired of the sunlight, the air and 
the birds? You are much more than all of these. 
And how could I grow tired when our meetings 
are so brief?” 

She nestled closer to him with a little sigh, 
and mutely reaching up one hand, burrowed her 
fingers beneath the collar of his shirt, so that 
they rested against his neck. 

His head fell forward until his lips rested upon 
her hair. From it came a faint odor suggestive 
of violets, and as a blissful ecstasy stole upon 
him Saul closed his eyes. 

For a long, long time they sat thus, bulwarked 
from the outside world by the walls of the ravine, 
each content in the realization that the other’s 
love was true. So long they sat, in truth, that 
gray-brown shadows crept upon them as the sun 
withdrew, and these, in turn, were transformed 
into a pearly radiance as the moon came up. Per¬ 
chance they had fallen asleep thus in each other’s 
arms, for all doubt had vanished and a sweet 
peace had come upon them. And first love has a 
way of mocking time; of turning hours into minute 
lengths. Had they slept, or had they remained 



32 


A BLUEGRASS CAVALIER 


awake, neither was surprised when they saw the 
moon push its yellow sphere over the crest of a 
hill. 

“I am so happyl” murmured the girl, never 
moving. 

“I could stay thus forever!” whispered back 
the man. 

“But you must go!” from the girl, an echo of 
pain in her words. 

‘ ‘ After a while, ’ ’ answered the man, in the same 
undertone. 

“Where to, sweet! ,, 

“God knows, dear heart!” 

“Haven’t you planned!” 

6 ‘ My destination !’ ’■—No. ’ 9 

‘ ‘ But you leave to-night ! ’ ’ 

“Yes; soon.” 

“You will let me know!” 

“What!” 

i 1 When you get there. You will write ? ’ 9 

“Oh, yes!” 

The moon crept up another foot, and at the base 
of the old beech youth called to youth with dumb 
intensity. Then there was the sound of labored 
breathing, and of lips torn from lips in an agony 
of passion. 

Saul awoke first, and wrenched himself from 
the white, strong arms which held him. 

“Jinsy! For God’s sake!” he panted. “This 
won’t do! Try to be calm. Remember, Love 
betrays its worshippers sometimes! ’ ’ 

His own form was shaking pitifully as he sat 
a short distance from her and spoke so plainly 
in the desperation of the moment. 

She leaned forward on her palms, her hair 
partly fallen where loosened pins had let it slip, 
breathing deeply between her full lips, which were 



A FAREWELL AND A VOW 


33 


slightly apart. Her eyes, aflood with moonlight, 
searched his face in a kind of desperate stare. 

“If I thought,’’ she muttered, almost as if to 
herself; “if I thought it took that to hold you, 
Saul, I believe—they say I have gypsy blood,” 
she broke off abruptly, “and a gypsy girl stops 
at nothing to hold her lover!” 

She began to draw herself toward him over 
the ground, never taking her eyes from his. 

“Don’t, Jinsy!” he cried, and with an heroic 
effort of will leaped to his feet. 

Instantly she was up, and before he could sur¬ 
mise her intention had clasped his face with her 
hands, and tiptoeing gazed deep into his eyes. 

“Promise me that you will come back to me!” 
she said. “No matter what happens. Six months 
from to-night, when the leaves of this tree are 
browning under the breath of frost, meet me here 
again! Promise, Saul! ’ ’ 

“I will come,” he said, but he did not lift the 
arms at his sides. 

“Hold me close once more!” she continued. 
“Don’t be afraid!” 

So once more he crushed her to his breast, and 
with the fire from her hot lips dulling his wits and 
judgment, spoke rashly in her ear. 

“I swear I will come back to you; I will love 
none but you; I will marry none but you! ’ ’ 

Then presently he was walking up the grassy 
hillside in the moonlight, and Jinsy, after staring 
at his retreating figure a few moments with heav¬ 
ing bosom, turned toward the tap-room in which 
she served as waiting-maid. 



ni 


Recording other leave-takings : friendly, stormy, 
tender, and launching Saul upon his adventure . 

‘ ‘ Young marse!’ ’ 

“Yes, Abe.” 

Beaching home, Saul had turned his horse over 
to his servant and started indoors. The negro’s 
voice indicated worry. 

“I’d lak to hab speech wid you, suh.” 

The young master turned about slowly. 

4 ‘Well, say what you want to, but be quick.” 

“Yes’r. Dey’s goin’s-on in dah, suh!” 

He shook his head toward the dimly lighted 
front of the mansion. 

“What do you mean? What has happened 
since I left?” 

Saul came closer, placing one hand on the neck 
of his horse. 

“Dey’s been a combustication o’ some sort ’r 
t’other in de Kuhn’l’s room, suh. You see, hit 
come dis way. Atter you put out wid Marse Jaw- 
kins ’n’ I’d laid back dem fine clo’es, I goes to 
wuk ’n’ made up de two bundles lak you tol’ me. 
No sooner ’d I got ’em stropped, ’n’ laid side by 
side on de flo’, lak you tol’ me, dan in come Miss 
Em’line. She ’low to me: ‘Whut dem fixin’s fo\ 
Aberham?’ I tol’ ’er dey’s yo’ orders, suh. ‘But 
he’s gwi way dis ebenin’l’ she ‘lows. ‘Yas’m, 
Miss Em’line,’ I ’sponds; ’dat’s a fac’.’ ’Den 
why ain’t you packin’ ’is trunks ’stid o’ foolin’ 
wid dat trash?’ she ’lows. ‘Kase he ain’t gwi tek 
34 


OTHER LEAVE-TAKINGS 


35 


no trunks,’ says I. Wid dat she flung up her han’s 
in dat way o’ her’n, ’n’ gaped. 4 Aberham,’ she 
says, lookin , at me stiddy ’n’ talkin’ kin’ o’ low 
lak, 4 wah’s yo’ master gwi?’ 4 Fo’ Gawd, Miss 
Ein’line,’ says I, 4 1 don’t know!’ Den she axed 
all I knowed, which ’s mighty nigh nothin’, ’n’ 
fus’ think I know she got to miratin’ roun’ dat 
room a-sniffiin’ ’n’ a-wipin’ her eyes ’n’ a-talkin’ 
to herseff. So I crope out ’n’ got away, ’kase 
Miss Em’line ac’ lak she wuzn’t zackly right in 
’er min’, suh, sho!” 

The darky’s excited tones ceased and he began 
to mutter to himself, and stroke the horse’s fore¬ 
lock. 

Saul waited a moment, a thrill of affection for 
the stern old lady sweeping over him. Then- 

4 4 What has all that to do with the trouble in 
Colonel Shad’s room?” 

4 4 Miss Em’line went right dah, suh, after she 
lef’ yo’ room, ’n’ dey had some wuds!” 

4 4 How do you know this, Abe ? Have you been 
spying?” 

44 I’s passin’ troo de hall, young marse, ’n’ I 
heard some wuds from de Kuhn’l’s room. Sime’s 
dah, waitin,’ ez he alius is, fo’ de Kuhn’l’s knock, 
’n’ I kin o’ stop to tell Sime’s how you ’s goin’ 
way fo’ a spell, ’n’ fus’ thing you know we’s bofe 
standin ’ dah a-listenin ’. ’ ’ 

4 4 That was wrong, Abe, and you know it. ’ ’ 

44 Ef’t hadn’t been you’s de cause o’ de rumpus, 
young marse, I wouldn’t ’a’ stayed. But I heerd 
yo’ name, ’n’ dey’s ’scussin’ you.” 

A picture of humility, the negro stood with bent 
head, kicking his bare heel with his toe. 

44 If there is more to tell, say it. I haven’t much 
time to give you. ’ ’ 

4 4 Miss Em’line’s raidin’ de Kuhn’l fo’ sendin’ 



36 


A BLUEGRASS CAVALIER 


yon ’way. She ’lowed hit’s a shame, you bein ’ de 
only chil’n; den de Kuhn’l got mad ’n’ hollered 
*n* cussed, ’n’ after a while Miss Em’line she 
dashed out o’ dah ’n’ run to her room, payin’ no 
mo’ min’ to me ’n’ Sime ’n if we’d been posts. 
. . . Dey’s sho been goin’s-on, young marse.” 

Abe shook his head again, and smoothed the 
horse’s nose. 

For a short time Saul said nothing. He was 
debating whether to leave at once, or to tell his 
father good-bye. The former course would have 
been far easier, for a return to the Colonel’s 
presence now could not possibly restore harmony 
between them. On the other hand he owed his 
sire the courtesy of a farewell, and presently duty 
triumphed. 

“Put the horse up,” he said, kindly, “then 
bring the two bundles from my room and place 
them on the bottom step here. And Abe, look 
after the Colonel when I am gone. Sime is getting 
old and is not as watchful as he should be. Listen, 
boy, and keep this a secret! ’ ’ Saul put his hand 
on the bondman’s shoulder and leaned toward 
him. “You know that I have been good to you, 
and I believe that you love me. I am going to tell 
you something which no one else shall know, and 
I charge you now never to repeat it. I am leaving 
by the river, Abe, within an hour; maybe sooner. 
I do not know just where I shall stop, for I am 
going adventuring. But if anything should hap¬ 
pen to the Colonel—if he should grow worse, or 
need me badly, hunt for me until you find me. I 
shall be somewhere near the river, though maybe 
seventy-five miles away. Do you understand, and 
do you promise? Can I depend upon you, as I 
have always done before?” 



OTHER LEAVE-TAKINGS 


37 


Before Saul had finished, the loyal negro was 
blubbering in his sleeve. 

“I don’t want you to go ’way, young marse!” 
he snuffled. 

“Thank you, Abe. I know I can depend upon 
you now. But I must go, and tonight. Remem¬ 
ber what I’ve told you. Watch the Colonel, and 
find me if I am needed. ’ ’ 

“Yas’r, I will! ’Fo’ Gawd, suh, I’ll do dat!” 

“Now good-bye. Put the horse up, bring my 
bundles here, and go to bed. I shan’t need you 
again.” 

The young master thrust out his hand, and the 
black gripped it with almost a detaining pressure. 

4 ‘1 ’ll fin ’ you, suh! ” he whispered. ‘ ‘ Dey ain’t 
nothin’ gwi keep Abe frum findin’ you ef de time 
come. All I wush is dat you’s tek’n’ me wid you. 
. . . Good-bye, young marse, ’n’ de Lawd be 

good to you! ’ ’ 

Servant and horse disappeared on the way to 
the stables. 

Then Saul turned and walked with a steady 
stride up the flight of hewn stone steps to the 
porch. He passed at once into the broad hall, 
which was lighted by an ornamental hanging lamp 
with many glass pendants, and nodding to his 
father’s aged servitor who sat in waiting at his 
left, knocked at a door. In response to an inartic¬ 
ulate sound from within, he entered. 

A shaded lamp, lighted but turned low, hung 
from the ceiling, but it was a student’s lamp on 
the Colonel’s desk which drew Saul’s eye. For 
his father sat there writing, his quill scratching 
noisily at the bottom of a rather lengthy page of 
script. He did not look up to see who his caller 
was, and Saul remained just within the door, re- 



38 


A BLUEGRASS CAVALIER 


spectfully keeping silent until his sire finished his 
task, or saw fit to recognize his presence. 

Very soon the old gentleman cast his quill aside 
with an exclamation which might have been a 
grunt or a snarl, and, with the assistance of his 
cane, settled himself afresh in his cushioned chair. 
Not once did he look toward the door, but as he 
began nervously to roll a cigarette from materials 
at his elbow, spoke rapidly. 

“I’m expecting you; have been all day.’’ 

Saul had never seen a blacker mood possess his 
father, and the presence of a tray on the center 
table holding decanter and glasses and a bowl of 
mint gave mute evidence that Colonel Shad had 
been imbibing. 

“Yes, sir; I’m here,” he replied, carefully hold¬ 
ing his voice to respectful accents. 

1 ‘ I looked for you later in the morning. There 
are things to talk over. Where were you?” 

“In my room. I had some writing to do, and 
the packing had to be attended to.” 

“I also anticipated your calling upon me this 
afternoon,” continued thej merciless voice. 
“Where were you then?” 

Now the watching eyes of the young man saw a 
sardonic smile play over the features of his in¬ 
quisitor, and he knew at once whither the cate¬ 
chising was trending. Colonel Shad had already 
guessed where a portion of his day had been spent, 
and with studied cruelty was going to make him 
confess it. But it was all one now to Saul. 

“Until four o’clock I was with Jorkins, going 
over the plantation. There were a number of 
things I wished to show him; I consulted with him 
about others. ’ ’ 

Colonel Shad deliberately struck a lucifer, and 
as it glowed and fumed between finger and thumb, 



OTHEE LEAVE-TAKINGS 


39 


he grinned with a peculiar curl of one corner of 
his lip, which showed hisAeeth. 

‘ 4 Until four o’clock-” he repeated, mock¬ 

ingly, and bringing the cigarette to his lips, 
touched fire to it. 

Saul had not moved from his tracks. A great 
change had occurred in his father’s mental condi¬ 
tion since morning, bad as it had been then. 
Chained to his chair, the sick man had brooded 
all day; had, contrary to his doctor’s orders, been 
drinking whiskey; and, to crown all else, had lately 
undergone a stormy interview with his sister, who 
doubtless had reproached him warmly for his atti¬ 
tude toward his only son. When he entered the 
room Saul had been prepared for harsh words, 
and an unbending determination on the part of 
the Colonel, but he had not counted upon what he 
was receiving, and was yet to receive. Making all 
allowance possible, there was that in the young 
man which caused his cheeks to burn and his jaws 
set at the insolent manner in which this second 
interview was being conducted. He would not 
equivocate and he would not lie, but he would 
finish and go as quickly as possible. 

Colonel Shad shot a lengthening funnel of 
smoke from his lips. 

“And where were you after four o’clock?” he 
asked, simulating a sweetness of tone almost ef¬ 
feminate. 

“I was with Jinsy until a very short time ago.” 

The reply came without a moment’s hesitation. 

There was no explosion from the Colonel, but 
Saul scarcely looked for it now. Colonel Shad’s 
mood was far more dangerous than it had been 
that morning. He had battened his anger down, 
and it was working havoc in his brain. 

“I see,” he drawled, dawdling his cigarette be- 



40 


A BLUEGRASS CAVALIER 


fore his face, “kissing and clipping; billing and 
cooing. Vows made which shall last throughout 
eternity, and such sweet rot. Well, I’ve heard of 
love in a cottage, but thank God I’ve never had 
to try it. I fancy it would grow deuced irksome 
with an empty larder and a cold hearth. Bright 
eyes dim, and red cheeks have a way of growing 
pale. Then, without money to bulwark them, our 
young lovers go to smash. But there’ll be fools 
as long as there is a world; it takes fools to help 
round out a world. 

‘ ‘ So our young gentleman, with an untarnished 
lineage of something like four hundred years, hies 
himself to a public place for a sweetheart and a 
mate. . . . By God, sir! ’ ’ with a rapid change 

from ridiculing drawl to vigorous protest, ‘ 1 1 say 
you’re crazy!” 

With that, for the first time, the speaker turned 
his head and glared at his son under lowered 
brows. 

Saul did not answer. A fierce sort of combus¬ 
tion was seething in his breast, too; a mingling 
of indignation and shame, shame that a father 
should sink so low as his had done within the 
past few minutes. But he held his tongue, and 
remained standing with his arms hanging by his 
sides, his hat clenched in one hand. 

i ‘ Damme! I say you ’re crazy! ’ ’ reiterated the 
Colonel. 

“Maybe I am, sir,” replied Saul, a little wear¬ 
ily* 

‘ 1 1 came to tell you good-bye, ’ ’ he added, a mo¬ 
ment later, and advanced till he stood quite near 
his father’s chair. 

The old man frowned up with blinking eyes at 
the figure which towered beside him. 

“Good-bye, eh?” he sneered. “And to beg 



OTHER LEAVE-TAKINGS 


41 


money, too, I suppose. You’ll doubtless go where 
wine flows and cards are shuffled! But not a cent 
from me do you get! Not a cent! Do you hear ? ’ ’ 

As he spoke he put one hand out to the sheet 
of closely written paper. 

“You’re mistaken, dad,” answered Saul, still 
keeping himself in hand. “I’m not going to in¬ 
dulge in an orgy, and I have sufficient money for 
my needs. I simply came to say farewell as a 
matter of respect.” 

“Respect! Boundless respect you have shown 
me already in defying my wishes, and I care for 
no more of that brand. . . . Here; read that! ’ ’ 

He thrust the crackling paper up roughly. 

Saul took it, found that he could not read the 
cramped and imperfect w r ords in the subdued 
light, then walked over to a position under the 
swinging lamp and rapidly perused the writing. 

“You want me to sign this?” he asked, in low 
tones, the hand which held the sheet trembling 
the least bit. 

“Exactly!” came the emphatic response. 
“That’s why I wrote it.” 

“You’re making this business very hard on me, 
dad, and I believe you’ll regret it some day. 
You’re asking me to put my name to a statement 
which declares that I shall never willingly see 
Jinsy again. ’ ’ 

“Just so!” 

“Was not my solemn word that I would not 
marry her without your consent enough?” 

“It was this morning. It is not this evening.” 

“Then I must say that this paper is not only 
unjust, but preposterous, and I refuse to sign it.” 

As he spoke, he placed it gently upon the center 
table. 

Colonel Shad laughed, a high, falsetto, raucous 



42 


A BLUEGRASS CAVALIER 


cacikle, which had in it to the ears of his son an 
element of the unnatural and horrible. It might 
have come from an insane person, and Saul real¬ 
ized with a sinking heart the uselessness of stay¬ 
ing longer. 

Again he approached the desk, determining to 
end the futile scene. 

“I hope you will believe me when I say I am 
sorry things have turned out this way. I will 
respect my former pledge to you, if that brings 
you any comfort. I hope you may soon grow bet¬ 
ter, and that Dr. Van Wyck will get you on your 
feet in time. Good-bye, dad.” 

Transferring his hat to his left hand, he held 
out his right. 

Colonel Shad paid it no heed, but began to talk 
in a ruminative way, as though to himself, staring 
straight in front of him all the while. 

“A gentleman’s only son, whom he has reared 
carefully, and given every advantage, to desert 
him just at the time when he needs him for a staff 
and a comfort. His father sick and suffering and 
old, needing this son’s help and advice, to be left 
to shift for himself, at the mercy of hired and 
slave labor. Had any one dared to say to me 
this would come to pass, I would have told him he 
lied-” 

4 ‘Dad, won’t you tell me good-bye?” 

“And to-morrow my lawyer will come from 
Hillsboro to disinherit him. Tight and strong he 
will draw the papers, for the estate must be kept 
among people of blood. What if Sir John, who 
fell at Cressy, could look down the ages to this 
night of shame? My God! And my own son, my 
only begotten son, on whom I had relied. He 
chooses to be a wanderer instead of a landed gen¬ 
tleman. ’ ’ 



OTHEB LEAVE-TAKINGS 


43 


With bowed head, Saul mutely turned and 
moved toward the door. The monotonous, medi¬ 
tative voice of his sire trailed after him. 

4 4 For infatuation of a pretty face he exiles him¬ 
self; he, the last Brentley in Kentucky. For a 
kiss he abandons his helpless father and his home, 
and for the arms of a common jade he sacrifices 
his patrimony. ,, 

Saul passed from the room, but his slow steps 
brought no sound from the thick carpet, and 
snatches of sentences still came to his ears. 

i ‘ To-morrow-tight and strong-common, 

alien- mix her blood- if Sir John- 

Cressy- shame-” 

Sime looked up in mute, troubled inquiry from 
his post against the wall. Saul beckoned as he 
went by, and presently both stood on the portico. 
One of the double doors was closed, and the old 
darky had carefully drawn the other almost shut 
as he came out. Slouching up to Saul’s side, he 
twisted his head askew and spoke in a fuzzy 
whisper: 

“Yas’r, young marse?” 

4 ‘You’d better get one of the boys to ride for 
the doctor to-night. The Colonel’s sick—sicker 
than he’s been for a long time. Say to the doctor 
that I sent for him, but caution him not to let dad 
know this. Hurry, now, and put Abe on a fast 
horse.” 

“Axin’ yo’ pahd’n, suh,” ventured Sime, “I 
t’ink hit’s de liquor. He’s been hittin’ it dat 
strong dis ebenin’.” 

“That’s why I want Van Wyck—to keep him 
from taking more. Go, now, and get Abe started. ’ ’ 

“Yas’r; sut’nly; ’bleege to you.” 

Alone, Saul Brentley did not tarry an instant. 
From where he stood he could see two bundles 


/ 




44 


A BLUEGRASS CAVALIER 


lying on the bottom step, and in another moment 
he had one in each hand. Then, without a glance 
behind, he strode down the gradual decline to the 
murmuring river five hundred yards away. There 
was a barely perceptible path leading thither, and 
along this the young man hastened, the light from 
the risen moon bringing the familiar surroundings 
out with the greatest distinctness. 

When scarcely half of the distance had been 
traversed, he heard the rhythmic thud of furiously 
racing feet, and a great white collie, yellow-maned, 
dashed to his side. Saul mechanically put his 
hand down to the cool nose, and continued his way, 
Roderick Dhu frisking beside him with an occa¬ 
sional whine of pleasure, and now and again mak¬ 
ing an upward leap of affection. 

There was a boat landing on the bank of the 
river, beside an ancient sycamore, and on this man 
and dog presently stood. It was then sudden re¬ 
membrance came to Saul. He should have told 
Aunt Emmy good-bye, after what had happened. 
She had dared Colonel Shad’s wrath in his inter¬ 
est, and he was leaving without telling her of his 
appreciation. Brave little soul that she was! She 
relented after she thought it over, and had done 
her best to placate her brother. He could not 
leave her without a word of love. 

Placing the bundles on the planking, he bade 
the dog remain and watch them, then started to 
go back. But even as he turned Aunt Emmy was 
standing there with a white knit shawl around 
her thin shoulders, and a veil over her head to 
keep off the dew. She held a package in her hand. 

“Nevvew, were you going without a word to 
me?” 

She spoke reproachfully as she drew near, but 
her voice was gentle, and somewhat unsteady. 



OTHER LEAVE-TAKINGS 


45 


“I’ve just had a trying talk with dad, Aunt 
Emmy,” Saul replied, soberly, taking the package 
she offered him; “and I was so disturbed that I 
got this far before I thought of you. I was start¬ 
ing back when you came. . . . What’s this?” 

“Towels, soap, comb and brush. I’m sure Ab¬ 
raham left them out, and you’ll need them. . . . 

Poor Shadrach seems to have gone demented,” 
she added, gazing up at the large, square bulk 
of the mansion. 

Saul put his arm around her and kissed her 
forehead. 

“Abe told me of your attempts on my behalf,” 
he said, “and I am touched more than I can say. 
It was very noble of you, Aunt Emmy, to do this 
for me when you disapproved of my course. I 
love you for it, and I shall always remember it.” 

As he spoke, the little spinster put her face 
against his breast, grasped his shoulder with one 
hand, and sobbed softly. 

“You’ve always been sweet and good as a 
mother to me,” continued Saul, “and while I must 
have taxed your patience at times, I cannot recall 
that you ever spoke harshly to me. And now this 
last proof of your affection has made me feel my 
great debt to you most keenly. I can never repay* 
you, Aunt Emmy, but I shall always reverence 
you as the best woman I have ever known. . . . 

I have no recollection of mother.” 

For a few moments longer the slight figure 
shook in his arms, then with a deep breath Aunt 
Emmy straightened up. 

“Thank you, newew,” with a dignified effort 
at composure. “I knew your heart was true, 
though your head has led you into error. I have 
never seen Shadrach like this before, and I must 
lay the change to his malady. He will be better 



46 


A BLUEGRASS CAVALIER 


to-morrow, and I hope will become normal again 
in time. If he does, and shonld want yon, 
where-” 

She stopped, and looked at the glinting water 
sliding past. 

Saul did not answer. Bitter thoughts, and loy¬ 
alty to this faithful woman, were warring within 
him. He had determined to efface himself utterly 
for the time he was away. But now Aunt Em¬ 
meline demanded to know where he was going, 
and he owed her much. 

"If Shadrach should want you, nevvew?” she 
repeated, a hint of insistence sounding in the 
question. 

"I have no destination,’’ he muttered, vaguely 
conscious that he must yield. 

"But you cannot live on the river. You must 
stop somewhere.” 

Saul gave in. 

"I will write you, Aunt E'mmy, in confidence.’* 

She patted his cheek tenderly. 

"Bless you, my boy! Be careful, now, and let 
nothing happen to you. I’ve heard of robbers 
and brigands in other sections of the state. Don’t 
fall among them. And what does Shakespeare 
say? 4 To thine own self be true, and it will follow 
as the night the day, thou canst not then be false 
to any man.’ A beautiful sentiment, which we 
should all treasure. Now good-bye, nevvew. Let 
me hear from you as soon as you are located.” 

A firm embrace, a kiss, and Aunt Emmeline 
was gone. 

A minute later a boat holding a bareheaded 
man and a dog shot out to midstream, and turned 
its prow with the current. 




IV 


Revealing a dumfounding discovery which 
comes with the dawn , and introducing a philoso¬ 
pher and a hear. 

By midnight Saul figured he had made thirty 
miles. The river, while not in flood, had been 
swollen recently by the Spring rains, and had not 
regained its normal flow. For the first two hours 
the man had rowed steadily, ceaselessly, and his 
powerful strokes had sent the light craft racing 
through the water. Much of an athlete, indeed, 
was young Brentley, for he had augmented his 
great natural strength by thorough and syste¬ 
matic training, and his muscles were practically 
tireless. This care of his physical being had been 
a rule from which he had not deviated since col¬ 
lege days, and his occasional all-night sprees had 
left no apparent mark upon his splendid vitality. 

As his boat swerved in obedience to his dipped 
oar and responded to the very perceptible tug of 
the current, Saul had cast a farewell glance at the 
mansion on the hill, the home which had sheltered 
him from infancy. He thought he saw a blur of 
white on the steps—a waved arm, but it may have 
been the moonlight deceiving him. He waved 
back, however, taking no chance of hurting the 
heart which had so plainly proven its devotion, 
knowing well that if it were indeed Aunt Emmy 
she would catch his signal. Then, ordering the 
collie to the stern and bidding him lie down, Saul 
47 


48 


A BLUEGRASS CAVALIER 


took the oars and braced himself for a long, lonely 
pull. 

For perhaps five miles he knew the channel 
intimately. The mysterious, whispering river al¬ 
ways had held a charm for him. He could not 
remember the time when he did not love it. His 
old black mammy, now dead, had often told him 
how she had taken him down to the landing when 
he was only a lusty baby, and he had crowed and 
shrieked his delight, and stretched his chubby 
arms in longing. Then within his own memory 
lurked the pleasing recollection of the days when, 
as a slender, straight-growing lad, he had raced 
eagerly to the grassy bank to anon plunge head¬ 
long into the waiting element. It seemed as if he 
had always known how to swim. No terror had 
ever hidden for him beneath the enchanting sur¬ 
face of the river. There was just happiness, 
recreation, companionship. But one cool Spring 
day when he ventured in too early the river had 
turned traitor to him; had cruelly seized him and 
cramped and twisted him, and drawn him down* 
like some grim, silent monster. Lassie, Roderick 
Lhu’s grandmother, lying upon the bank with 
head on paws and half-shut eyes, heard the short 
cry her master gave before he went down. On 
the instant she leaped, bravely and well, and seiz¬ 
ing Saul by the hair as he arose the first time, 
towed him ashore. 

Most of the Brentley estate lay up the river, 
and for that reason Saul’s knowledge of its course 
in the opposite direction was limited. In like 
manner, the country toward which he was hasten¬ 
ing was almost a strange land. His pursuits, ac¬ 
tivities and interests had always led him east¬ 
ward. Toward the west the topography was 
rougher. This he knew from observation, for on 



REVEALING A DISCOVERY 


49 


clear days he could see the far-away purple 
ranges, but whether they were mountains or sim¬ 
ply knob formations, he could not tell. More 
likely the latter, because the Cumberlands did not 
trend this way. Again, he knew that this section 
of the state was more sparsely populated, as there 
was no railroad within many miles. And while 
he had not given these things consideration when 
he reached his hasty decision as Abe was packing 
his clothes, a full realization of them as he took 
up his solitary voyage in no way dimmed his ardor 
or made him regret his course. 

Like a pendulum his body moved. The clank 
from the row-locks, and the tinkle of drops from 
the polished oars of ash as they rose glistening 
from each long stroke, formed an audible accom¬ 
paniment to his progress. Mile after mile thus, 
with Roderick Dhu asleep in the stern in a half- 
curved posture, his up thrown shoulder and slop¬ 
ing side gleaming snowy white, and his thick yel- 
jlow ruff like a lion’s mane. 

Saul kept in the current. More often this held 
him in the center of the river, but now and again 
a bend in its course would float him quite near 
the shore. Frequently not more than a score of 
feet separated him from land, and once he glided 
under an archway of boughs whose bending tips 
trailed in the water. Each bank was heavily 
wooded, but the channel seemed free from rocks 
!or sunken snags, and the projecting drifts he 
could easily avoid. 

When the moon was directly overhead Saul 
shipped his oars. He was not conscious of fatigue, 
but he wanted to smoke, and there was no hurry. 
At the flare of the match the dog lifted his head 
a few inches, thumped the planks twice with his 
tail, then grew quiet again. Cautiously the man 



50 


A BLUEGRASS CAVALIER 


arose, stepped across the seat, and sat down again 
facing the prow. If he intended to drift, he had 
as well watch his progress. He was near the 
middle again, and as well as he could judge would 
make about six miles an hour merely drifting^ 
There would be five hours till good daylight. Five 
times six was thirty. This, coupled with the thirty 
he had already gone, would take him sixty miles 
from home before morning. 

“Nearly far enough, I guess,’’ mused the young 
fellow, quietly wriggling into his coat, for there 
had come a sensation of chilliness when he stopped 
exercising. “I mustn’t go too far away from 
dear old dad”—his thoughts ran on—“though 
I had to get out for a while. I can’t see any use 
raising all this hullabaloo over a man-and-girl 
affair. There was no danger of marrying Jinsy 
—none in the world. But dad’s mind is twisted 
and in his imagination he sees the ancestral acres 
in the grip of plebeian hands. Damn it! Has it 
come to the pass where a gentleman can’t kiss a 
bar-maid without being driven from home? Who 
thought of marriage ? Who thought of—maybe the 
old gentleman was right on that count! "it was 
not my intention. A man surely can be honest 
with himself, and I wouldn’t deliberately harm the 
girl. What a charmer she is, though! And how 
her lips can kiss!” He stirred, and his foot 
rustled paper. “Toilet articles! Bless my old 
maid aunt!” Beside the prim little bundle neatly 
folded and tied were the two others; his clothing 
and food. “A lunch wouldn’t be amiss after that 
pull,” he mused, while his fingers became busy 
with the smaller package. “Let’s see what sort 
of a forager Abe is. Poor nigger ! Actually boo- 
hooed—hard knot, of course!—when I left him. I 
guess there’s something that shines pretty white 




REVEALING A DISCOVERY 


51 


inside his blackness somewhere. . . . Light- 

bread ! Fried chicken! Cold boiled ham! Wow, 
as the Injuns say in the story books. This is fat 
living. My stomach may be flapping about to¬ 
morrow at this time, but when I finish to-night 
it would do for a football!” 

He ate leisurely, casting generous portions fre¬ 
quently to the now alert collie, who caught each 
morsel in his mouth, and gave two tail-thumps by 
way of thanks. 

When the pair had finished their meal Saul dis¬ 
covered that they were reaching rougher country. 
The banks of the river were gradually growing 
higher, and he could see mammoth bowlders 
sprawled at the water’s edge like sleeping mon¬ 
sters of some earlier age. The pipe and food 
following his long row now induced drowsiness, 
and the lone voyager’s thoughts turned toward 
sleep. The boat, unguided, had kept safely to the 
current for the past hour, so Saul resolved to 
take a nap as he drifted. Nothing worse could 
befall than being beached at some curve. 

In his bundle of clothing he found a heavy 
blanket. Wrapping this about him, and using a 
folded hunting coat for a pillow, he carefully 
laid down with his head almost touching Dhu. 
To show his appreciation of this friendly act Dhu 
began to lick his master’s ear, but a sharp com¬ 
mand delivered with a tolerant laugh caused the 
dog to desist. 

The Spring night was very calm and exceed¬ 
ingly still. As he lay thinking of the gypsy-like 
loveliness of Jinsy Galory, no sounds reached 
Saul’s ears but the barely audible purl of water 
at the stern of the little craft. Lulled by this elfin 
gurgle, a delicious sense of wholesome weariness 
crept over him, and almost as quickly as a child 



52 


A BLUEGRASS CAVALIER 


would have done he glided into slumber. Dhu 
also lay with closed eyes, but now and again a 
lid would partially lift to see that all was well. 

Saul awoke in the early morning. He could not 
tell if the sun was up, for a dense white fog en¬ 
veloped the river, blotting out each shore. He 
could see no further than a dozen feet in any 
direction. The blanket about him was covered 
with tiny drops of moisture, and the boat was 
wet as if rain washed. 

‘‘Now where am I, I wonder ?’’ mused the young 
gentleman, rising stiffly on his elbow. 

Dhu yawned, then pricked one ear oddly and 
watched his master. 

‘ ‘ It would seem as though earth had turned into 
vapor, old pup, and we were adrift in a fog-sea. 
We’ve seen the like many a time at home, though, 
and we ’ll have the sun in an hour or t wo. In the 
meantime we ’ll breakfast on bread and bones, and 
be ready for a landing when the mist goes.” 

With a brisk movement he pushed the blanket 
from him, and as he did so something rattled to 
the bottom of the boat. Another moment he was 
holding in his hand a small glass bottle adorned 
with filigree of silver. The bottle was tightly 
stoppered; attached to its neck with a torn bit 
of red ribbon was a small piece of wood, while 
inside was some crumpled white paper. 

Brow a-frown, Saul Brentley sat and stared at 
this astounding discovery. What was it, and 
where had it come from? He was quite sure it 
had not shipped with him when he left the landing 
at home. Aunt Emmy had nothing to do with it, 
because all her ribbons were plain black. He felt 
that the paper within would throw light upon the 
question; would probably explain it fully, but he 
had a curious hesitancy about removing the stop- 



REVEALING A DISCOVERY 


53 


per. It pleased him just to sit and look at this 
mysterious messenger as it lay in the palm of his 
hand, and tax his mind for a solution, before ac¬ 
cepting the one he felt would be provided when 
he withdrew the paper. 

But prod his mind as he would, no deduction 
was forthcoming. He had gone to sleep several 
hours before in an open boat near the middle of 
the river; he had awakened to find a lady’s per¬ 
fume bottle by his side. Of one thing only was 
he reasonably sure. The portion of broken faggot 
held by the torn ribbon was to help keep the 
bottle afloat. But if it had been someone’s inten¬ 
tion to give the bottle to the river, how had it 
come to his boat? 

A sudden lurch caused Saul to turn with an 
exclamation. Dhu had risen to his feet, and with 
forelegs extended was taking his morning stretch. 

“No more o’ that, Roddy! Down with you! 
Wait till we get ashore for those antics.” 

Under the firm but friendly pressure of a hand 
on his thick, wet ruff, Dhu curled up afresh and 
waited, patient-eyed. 

“We’ve a mystery here, my Scotchman,” re¬ 
sumed Saul, whimsically addressing the attentive 
collie; ‘ ‘ and mayhap a romance. Beyond the per- 
adventure of a doubt there is a lady involved, and 
by the same token she is a young lady. This is 
not a spinster ribbon, nor does this silver-wired 
bottle evoke a vision of an old maid. And where¬ 
as there is one at home whom I truly love, and 
unto whom I must surely return, can any gallant 
gentleman of our south country turn his back upon 
a lady in need? I trow not, Roddy Dhu! Like¬ 
wise, nae Scot would gang his way when duty 
called, so let’s pledge ourselves, as right loyal 
modern knights, to succor this distressed un¬ 
known. Then we’ll draw the stopper.” 



54 


A BLUEGRASS CAVALIER 


Whereupon Saul held out his hand, and the 
grave-faced collie put his paw therein in a most 
dignified manner. 

4 4 Good quality of paper, but mighty poor writ¬ 
ing, ’ ’ commented the man, as he spread the small 
crumpled sheet out upon his knee. 44 Evidently 
done in a violent hurry, and with a lead pencil 
which failed to make a mark half the time. Listen, 
Dhu, here’s what it says. 

“‘I am held for ransom by brigands’ (Egad! 
Roddy, wjaat did I tell you?) 4 A week ago the 
coach from Cedarton to New Market was held 
up, and I was abducted. After a short dash over¬ 
land on horseback I was forcibly drugged, and 
brought to this cave. How we gained this place 
I cannot say. It is a cleft in the face of a huge 
wall of cliff on the river. I can give no directions, 
for I know none. My prison seems impossible of 
access. It is thirty feet down a sheer stone wall. 
I cannot escape unaided, for it is sixty or seventy 
feet to the river. My companion is an old hag 
who seems half wild, but who treats me kindly. 
Should this be found, I pray that search be made 
for me speedily, for I cannot endure the suspense 
and dread. Go to Captain Jonathan Pembroke, 
near New Market, and tell him of the plight of 
Miargot LaTour. I write this after midnight, 
while the old hag sleeps, and presently will cast 
it into the river. May God guide it to friendly 
hands! ’ ” 

As he read this strange appeal the bantering 
tones gradually left Saul’s voice, and when he 
finished his lips were mumbling inaudibly. 

44 The devil!” he exclaimed, throwing up his 
head and glaring at the enshrouding fog resent¬ 
fully. 4 4 If Fate ever took a hand in human affairs 
it was last night,” he added. 44 I drifted, asleep, 
just beneath the spot where she is held, at the mo- 



REVEALING A DISCOVERY 


55 


ment when she cast this bottle out. The blanket 
is thick and the bottle small, so the blow was not 
enough to wake me. We must seek her at once. 
What does she say? ‘Go to Captain Jonathan 
Pembroke, near New Market.’ It seems I have 
heard the name; some sort of hamlet, I believe. 
But where is it? And where am I? Damn this 
fog!” 

He savagely tugged a big silver watch from his 
waistcoat. 

‘ ‘ Eight o ’clock! Heavens! Won’t the sun ever 
get through? I can’t wait for it. I may be ten 
miles below New Market! So here’s for a land¬ 
ing, and a word with the first person I see!” 

The oars rattled and the boat swerved to the 
right. A score of strokes brought him to shore, 
and sent him crashing through the foliage of a 
bending willow into a low mud bank. Dhu was 
up and out on the instant, scrambling past his 
master with eager feet. As Saul was securing 
the boat to the willow, Dhu capered about among 
the wiry grass and low weeds, voicing his delight 
at liberty regained in short, happy yelps. 

“Now, boy, whereaway? It seems our adven¬ 
turing has begun before we are quite ready for 
it.” 

Brentley came forward as he spoke, casting 
about for a path or road. None was visible. The 
spot was weed- and bush-grown, but an opening 
showed in one direction, and toward this Saul 
hastened. Presently he descried a stone fence, 
and coming up to this found a high road on the 
other side. His spirits rose, for here was an 
unmistakable sign of civilization. Dhu bounded 
over first, to stop with a snarl, his ruff rising. 
Saul, atop the fence, saw a ghostly figure plodding 
toward him through the now lifting mist, followed 



56 


A BLUEGRASS CAVALIER 


closely by a huge, shambling form which went on 
all fours. 

“Dhu,” he called, “here!” 

Agilely the dog responded, and leaping to his 
master's feet crouched shivering against his legs, 
giving vent to alternate whines of fright and 
sharp barks of rage. 

Very soon the oncomer and his companion were 
plainly visible, both halting presently in the mid¬ 
dle of the road. The man turned and faced the 
twain on the fence, and the big black bear with 
him squatted on his haunches and ran a red 
tongue around his lips. 

“A happy morning to you!” said the man, 
taking off a fur cap from the rear of which 
dangled a coon’s tail. 

“The same to you, good sir!” returned Saul, 
promptly, viewing the bizarre couple with in¬ 
terest. 

The man was tall and spare of frame, and was 
clad in a mixture of leather and skins. His 
trousers and belt were of leather, his shirt inde¬ 
terminate, his close-fitting coat a motley of many 
small pelts ingeniously sewed together, with a 
fringe of fur around the bottom. Twined about 
his shoulders and hanging down on his chest were 
a number of rawhide lashes ; some plain, some 
braided into thick goads. Under one arm he 
carried a bundle of axe helves, tied together. 
They were very white and smooth, and evidently 
had just been made. The bear, as he sat awk¬ 
wardly in the road, reached well past the man’s 
middle. There was no leading-rope nor tether 
of any kind about the animal’s neck. The man’s 
face was lean, reddish-brown, and clean shaved. 
He had projecting, bushy brows and mild, blue 
expressionless eyes. 

“A stranger you are, with your furr’n dog,” 



REVEALING A DISCOVERY 


57 


resumed the man, replacing his cap and giving 
his head a quick twirl so that the tail rested on 
the back of his neck. “ And be you journeyin’ my 
way, suppose we make it together? Paddyfoot 
is a good bear. ’ ’ 

He smiled, twisting one corner of his mouth up 
quaintly, and fondled the brute’s muzzle with his 
hand. The bear licked his fingers, and blinked 
contentedly. 

“I seek the little burg of New Market.” 

Saul jumped from the fence as he spoke, and 
advancing, held out his hand. 

“My name is Saul Brentley, and I have come 
down the river from up near Hillsboro.” 

The other’s strong, bony hand came out and 
promptly closed over his. 

“My name is Mordecai Fode, at your service. 
I live in Beechum’s Woods, and I am a philoso¬ 
pher. ’ ’ 

Brentley did not attempt to check the smile 
which sprang to his lips at this speech, and his 
eyes went anew to the coiled rawhides and the 
bundle of helves. 

“These,” said Mordecai Fode, “are my pas¬ 
time. I make ’em for such as want) to buy at 
Cedarton and New Market and along the road. I 
travel much, and find many things in Nature upon 
which to exercise my gift. Not a leaf I brush, 
not a stone I kick, but speaks to me. Here.” He 
bent and picked up a pebble. “That to you, and 
to mankind in general, is a little rock. To me it 
is wonderful as the world. Where did it come 
from? How long has it been here? What is it 
made of? One might spend a lifetime with this 
little rock. The same way with a blade of grass 
or a drop of dew or a hair from Paddyfoot’s back. 
You do not understand, but you are not a philoso¬ 
pher.” He carelessly let the pebble fall, and re- 



58 


A BLUEGRASS CAVALIER 


sumed. ‘‘To New Market? Yes, I am bound 
thither, and would be proud o’ your company. 
But ’tis a winding, runabout way we go, and be 
your mission speedy, ’twould be faster by the 
river. ’ ’ 

“I am in haste”—broke in Saul—“great 
haste.’ ’ 

“You must have drifted by New Market in the 
fog, but a stranger might pass it on the river 
with the broad sun overhead, and never know it. 
It can’t be seen from the water, lyin’ a good half 
mile or three-quarters to the north. But had it 
been clear Gypsy George would have hailed you, 
for nothin’ passes his shack without speech from 
him. ’ ’ 

“Who is he, pray?” 

“The little, dried-up fellow who runs the ferry 
on the New Market road. ‘ Jews-harp George’ or 
‘Gypsy George,’ it’s all one. All day long he sits 
in his door and plays, a-buzzin’ and a-dronin’ the 
hours away. When anybody wants to cross, by 
boat or raft, he lays his harp down, but he comes 
back to it as soon as he can. Ten cents a person; 
two bits a hoss an’ buggy; three shillin’s for a 
two-hoss wagon or a yoke o’ oxen. Gypsy has 
a-plenty. ’ ’ 

‘ ‘ How far back up the river must I go to reach 
this ferry?” 

6 6 Two mile, it may be. You can’t pass it, ’cause 
Gypsy will be in his door on t’other side, jig-jig- 
gin ’ that forefinger o ’ his against the bit o ’ metal 
that makes his tune.” 

“I’d like to tarry and talk with you, Mr. Fode,” 
said.Saul. “I’d like to journey afoot with you, 
but it behooves me to reach New Market by the 
quickest route. I shall hope to see you again, and 
as it seems probable I am to be in your neighbor¬ 
hood for some time, I doubtless will. I want to 



REVEALING A DISCOVERY 


59 


ask you about your bear, and how it is he follows 
you about as my dog follows me.’ 

‘ ‘ Paddyfoot is a good bear, ’ 9 repeated the skins- 
and-leather man, patting the flat, soft head near 
his elbow. “We live in Beechum’s Woods, and I 
follow the life of a philosopher. ’Tis not a far 
journey, and you would be welcome there.” 

“I will come if I find the time,” Saul replied. 
“In the meanwhile we may meet in the little 
village. ’’ 

i ‘ At the public kept by Cadwallader Hull, where 
refreshment may be had for man and beast, as is 
required by law. At the sign of the Leaning 
Stump. I bid you good-day, and wish you a safe 
voyage. ’ ’ 

And Mordecai Fode, philosopher, took his coon- 
skin cap from his head the second time, bowed, 
replaced his cap, then turning, continued his way, 
Paddyfoot the bear shuffling along silently behind. 

“Did you ever see the like o’ that, my Scotch¬ 
man ?” demanded young Brentley. “You are a 
wise dog to stay out of the reach of bruin’s claws, 
and I’m not scolding you. But wdiat a peculiar 
chap the man is! Come, we must hurry, lad!” 
He climbed the fence as he was speaking, and with 
Dhu trotting at his side walked swiftly back to 
the river. “Remember that Margot LaTour is 
depending upon you and me. A moment now, boy. 
We must have a bite before we begin to pull, for 
it’s upstream, you know. Here are your chicken 
bones, and here is my bread and ham. All right; 
eat fast as you like. If you are as hungry as I, 
these bones are tasting mighty good. We’ll have 
things started in a short time now. And Captain 
Jonathan Pembroke is the man we want to see, 
Dhu; don’t forget that.” 



V 

Having to do with a certain ferryman, with a 
trainer of horses, and ending with a perplexi/ng 
denouement . 

Roderick Dim had no mind for further voyag¬ 
ing, because the long night trip had cramped him 
and made him sore, and he hung back as his mas¬ 
ter’s voice ordered him aboard. Time being 
precious, Saul did not dally with his reluctant 
retainer, but picked him up bodily and placed him 
in the boat, bidding him stay there. To cast off 
required only a moment, and they were afloat once 
more. 

Over the face of the river the fog still hung, 
but it was lifting and thinning rapidly, and the 
location of the sun could easily be discerned 
through the grayish vapor. Saul, keeping within 
fifteen or twenty feet of the shore in order to 
escape the tug of the current, began to row up¬ 
stream. His thoughts were all of the present now, 
and of the immediate future. Banished from his 
mind for the time was Jinsy of the liquid black 
eyes, Colonel Shad, Aunt Emmeline, and all the 
rest. Instead, as is the vagrant way of youth, he 
was wondering who this Margot LaTour could be, 
and where she had come from. And, it must be 
told, he wondered further if she were fair, and 
if it would be given him to rescue her from her 
distressful situation. How fine and brave it would 
be if he could accomplish this single-handed. If 
he could discover that cleft where she was hidden 
and held prisoner, and alone, by guile or by 
strength, bring her safely away! it was a strong 


A CERTAIN FERRYMAN 


61 


appeal to adventurous youth, and the thought 
thrilled him, but on the instant he realized such 
a thing was next to impossible. He must have 
the assistance of some one who knew the country. 
He would go to the man mentioned in the note, 
and volunteer his services. 

So light of heart and so a-bubble with anticipa¬ 
tion of high adventure did our hero become, that 
he actually broke into song as he pulled away. It 
was the dear old Scotch air “Auld Lang Syne” 
which he voiced, in tones most mellow and sweet, 
albeit powerful. Beating the accent -with his oars, 
he sent stave after stave rolling over the water 
and along the shores, both of which soon became 
visible. Each bank was thick with its fringe of 
tangled greenery. Sometimes leaning trees 
stretched their arms downward and trailed ten- 
driled fingers in the water below; sometimes there 
were bushes, sumac, elderberry, and many syca¬ 
more saplings; sometimes dense brakes where 
many things grew. Because of this verdant, ever¬ 
present barrier, he could gain no idea of the na¬ 
ture of the country beyond, except it must be flat, 
and therefore farmland or pasture. 

For an hour he toiled ceaselessly, then be¬ 
thought him it was time he was nearing the ferry 
of which the man with the bear had spoken. As 
he poised his oars in the rowlocks to take a look 
about, he heard a thin, keen hail, cutting the air 
like a blade. 

“Boat ahoy— ee — ee! Boat ahoy— ee — ee!” 

Saul twisted his head and gazed in the direction 
of the sound. On the other bank of the river, a 
hundred feet or more upstream, a figure stood 
waving its arms wildly. A grotesque figure, low, 
broad-shouldered, with curiously bowed legs. As 
Saul turned the hail came again: 



62 


A BLUEGRASS CAVALIER 


“Boat ahoy— ee — ee! Where bound, my mas¬ 
ter ?” 

Without attempting a reply, the rower dipped 
his oars and started across the river. He would 
put a few questions to this individual. The pass¬ 
age was accomplished quickly, and Saul brought 
his boat to a dozen feet from land. As he lifted 
his eyes he saw a crude log landing flush with the 
river brink, a highway leading back from it, and 
to one side a tiny log house. A boat similar to 
his own was moored near, and further off a huge 
raft was tied with a chain cast around a stump. 
The man who had shouted at him stood on the 
landing, an odd-looking creature with legs curved 
like barrel hoops, and wearing a short black beard 
all over his face. In one hand he held a jews- 
harp. 

Saul tilted his cap with his forearm and drew 
his sleeve across his dripping forehead. 

‘ ‘ Good morning, Gypsy George!’ ’ he called. 

Two rows of shining white teeth appeared in 
the black growth on the ferryman’s face, and he 
laughed in a high, monotonous key. 

“You know me, young master!” he answered, 
craning his neck forward in scrutiny. “Every¬ 
body knows me, for I have been here long. But 
I know you not. Never have I set you across the 
river; never, in flood or drouth.” 

He laughed again, and the impression was as 
if a piece of mechanism had gone off when a 
spring was released. 

“I have never laid eyes on you before this 
moment , 9 9 agreed Saul. ‘ ‘ But one told me I would 
find you here, and here you are . 9 9 

“One told you I served at the ferry? Ah, yesl 
Everybody knows me ! 9 9 

“A man with a great bear at his heels was my 
informant . 9 9 



A CERTAIN FERRYMAN 


63 


“Oh! Mordy Fode.” 

Gypsy George’s grinning features became sober, 
and he shook his head. 

“He would be wise if he wasn’t foolish. The 
long sickness came on him, and they gave him 
yarbs. Yarbs saved his life, but they hurt his 
mind. . . . Whither bound, young master ? I 

gather news from those who pass, as well as take 
them across with dry feet. I stay here always, 
and the world is large. ’ ’ 

“To New Market I go,” returned young Brent- 
ley, beginning to marvel at the speech of the lone 
ferryman. “But first, I would be directed to the 
home of Captain Jonathan Pembroke. Do you 
know him, Romany man?” 

Now a dark scowl spread over the low forehead 
of the person before him, and he spat on the 
ground. 

“I hate him!” he answered, with sudden vi¬ 
ciousness, and closing one fist he drove it down¬ 
ward by his side. 

“Oho!” breathed Saul to himself, “I have 
touched a sore!” Aloud: “I know nothing of 
that, being come from up the river, but I have 
pressing business with the gentleman, and must 
see him at once. Will you tell me where he may 
be found, or must I go elsewhere ? ’ ’ 

Some powerful kind of emotion must have been 
stirring in the dark little man’s brain, for now 
his eyes were downcast and he was muttering. 
Shifting glances, too, he cast at the young fellow 
in the boat; glances which seemed to indicate a 
desire to ask questions which he was afraid to 
utter. At last: 

“You came from up river?” he demanded, his 
agitation hardening his voice. 

“Yes; I said it.” 

“How far?” 



64 


A BLUEGRASS CAVALIER 


4 ‘That doesn’t matter.” 

“You came by boat all the way?” 

“All the way—but these questions border on 
the impertinent. Answer me: will you direct me 
to Captain Pembroke’s, or must I go and inquire 
at the village?” 

At this the ferryman’s manner underwent a 
change. He became suspiciously suave and polite. 
He smiled and bowed, and his voice was honeyed 
as he replied: 

“Your pardon, young master. I didn’t want to 
make you mad. But this man you name has done 
me a great wrong; it is because of him I sit by 
the river all the days, picking pennies from the 
palms of people as they pass-” 

“You are no more Romany than I!” burst out 
Saul. “Why then, do they call you Gypsy 
George?” 

The man’s smile remained, but the gleam in 
his eyes was not of mirth. 

“A low fellow put the name upon me, maybe 
because of my dark skin and my black hair; a 
worthless rascal called Noey Mole, who haunts' 
the public at New Market and idles in the tap- 
room of the Limping Dog on the Cedarton road. ’ ’ 
He gave a meaningless gesture with his arm. 
“It’s all the same. One must be known by some¬ 
thing. ’ ’ 

“I think a fare approaches!” exclaimed Saul, 
gazing up the road down which a solitary horse¬ 
man was coming on a spirited mount, 

Gypsy George wheeled with a cat-like move¬ 
ment, and instantly gave a start which the watch¬ 
ing boatman plainly saw. 

“What is it, ferryman?” he asked. “Why do 
you start at the chance of a piece of silver coming 
your way ? Are patrons so rare ? ’ ’ 

Now Gypsy George, or Jews-harp George, as he 




A CERTAIN FERRYMAN 65 


was also known, became confused, and several sec¬ 
onds passed before he could fetch an answer. 

“I twisted my ankle when I turned, and it 
seemed to you like I jumped. I know the man; 
he is Mack Leek.” 

i 1 Very well. Now tell me how to reach Captain 
Pembroke's, and I’ll be off.” 

“Yes, young master, I could tell you, but the 
man coming yonder is going your way, no doubt, 
and could guide you to the house.” 

“Which is better, I agree. Ask him if he fares 
in that direction. ’ ’ 

Horse and rider were within a dozen rods now, 
and as he spoke, to Brentley’s intense amazement, 
the dark man ran with great speed to meet the 
comer. Such an unusual proceeding was a cause 
of much perplexity to Saul, who could see no 
reason in the world for it. But as the two came 
together out of earshot and began a low-pitched 
conversation, a suspicion which grew prodigiously 
within the next few moments found lodgment in 
the young man’s brain. Things were not as 
straight here as they should be, although he had 
to admit that his grounds for any just doubt were 
rather poor. The greatest and only real reason 
he had for this mental attitude was the inaudible 
colloquy in progress down the road. 

Saul felt that he had reached a portion of the 
state much different from that he had left, al¬ 
though geographically it lay not so far from the 
home acres. But here it was rugged, more un¬ 
settled, and the characters he had thus far met 
might almost have served as types of backwoods 
days. He thought of what Aunt Emmy had said 
of brigands, and of how her words had been veri¬ 
fied that morning when he first awoke. It was 
the part of discretion to be careful, at least until 



66 


A BLUEGRASS CAVALIER 


he had given the note which lay in an inner pocket 
to the hands of a friend. 

Cautiously dropping an oar, he inched his boat 
back from the bank until four or five yards of 
water intervened, then fell to waiting with grow¬ 
ing impatience. The morning was passing, and 
practically he had made no progress on his errand. 
As he sat, his restlessness increasing momentar¬ 
ily, he looked at the man on the horse. He was 
a big fellow. His age was difficult to guess, for a 
luxuriant brown beard fell half-way to his waist. 
He wore boots which reached to his knees, and a 
slouch hat with a portion of the brim brought up 
and pinned to the crown. His actions were quick 
and nervous. The black horse he sat on was evi¬ 
dently blooded stock, for it stood with head up and 
restless feet, chafing at the bit. 

The conversation continued for so long that 
Saul was preparing to depart without further ado, 
when the twain drew apart suddenly and advanced 
toward him. Presently they were at the edge of 
the landing, and greetings were exchanged be¬ 
tween Saul and the newcomer. The man on the 
horse continued. 

“My friend here tells me that you’ve journeyed 
all night down the river, and are seekin ’ Jonathan 
Pembroke. ’’ 

Bold and bright were the eyes of the horseman 
as he spoke, but his deep voice had a pleasing 
quality which inspired confidence. 

“Your friend did not tell you all the truth,” 
replied Saul, a little nettled. “It is true that I 
seek Captain Pembroke, but as for the rest, that 
is as it may be.” 

“YouVe never been hereabout before, I take 
it?” 

“No.” 

“Won’t you step ashore an’ take a bite with 



A CERTAIN FERRYMAN 


67 


us? George has food an’ drink, an’ would be 
glad to give you a bite an’ a sup.” 

To Brentley this sudden offer of hospitality ap¬ 
peared unduly eager. But he answered with 
courtesy: 

‘ ‘ Thank you, but I have breakfasted already. 
Does it chance your route is across the river?” 

“No; business with George brought me to the 
ferry. I’ll ride back in a few minutes. Do you 
stay at New Market long?” 

“That I cannot answer. Do I follow yonder 
road to the village?” 

He inclined his head toward the opposite 
shore. 

“I’m sorry you won’t tarry long enough to get 
acquainted, ’ ’ declared the big, bearded man whose 
name was Mack Leek. “I’m a dealer in horses. 
I train ’em, and break wild ones. You wouldn’t 
want to buy a horse?” 

“I fear not, though the one you sit upon might 
tempt any man who lives in Kentucky. ’ ’ 

“His training is good. Wait just a minute, an’ 
I’ll show you what he can do.” 

With that the big fellow gathered up the reins, 
squeezed the black with his knees, and began to 
put him through a sort of performance. The 
horse reared and backed on his hind feet, pranced 
and caracoled, and did some fancy steps. Then, 
lo! as his rider brought him mincing back with 
tossing head and flashing eyes to the landing’s 
edge the shining black form suddenly bunched 
itself together, and the next moment had leaped 
straight at the boat and its occupants! It came 
down with a terrific splash, short of the boat by 
half a man’s length. Saul was so surprised that 
he scarcely realized what had taken place, till he 
saw Mack Leek thrust out his arm and lay hold 
upon the side of the boat. The man’s face was 



68 


A BLUEGRASS CAVALIER 


twisted, as with rage. So sudden and unexpected 
was this assault, that Brentley was rendered in¬ 
capable of action for a moment. A second more, 
and the frail craft most probably would have been 
overturned, but in the passing of that second a 
white shape hurled itself from its position in the 
stern and, with a rattling growl, sank its teeth 
in the gripping hand. With an oath of pain and 
rage Mack Leek released his hold and tore his 
hand from Dhu’s mouth. At the same time Saul, 
aroused now and watchful, gave one deep, long 
stroke and was a dozen feet away. 

The black swam to shallower water, and there 
Mack Leek stood in his stirrups and shook his 
mangled hand in wrath. 

“Did I know the horse would jump?” he yelled. 
“An* ’twas pretty help you give me settin’ your 
dog on me! I’ll even with you yet, young furiner, 
an’ you stay here ! 9 ’ 

And with that he sent his horse scrambling up 
the wet and slippery bank, where Gypsy George, 
leaning forward, seized the bridle and helped the 
animal to firmer land. 

Because Saul was young, because he felt that 
treachery had been attempted, and because his 
blood was hot, a sharp retort which would have 
been in the nature of a defiance leaped to his 
tongue. But he refrained from shouting it. The 
man had played innocent, had made it appear as 
if he were the victim of his horse’s sudden freak, 
and Brentley had to grant the thing was barely 
possible. So, curbing with an effort his inclina¬ 
tion to reply in kind, he said nothing in answer, 
but rowed to the other landing. There he tied his 
boat up, took his bundles and turned toward the 
road. 

On the opposite shore the black horse was crop¬ 
ping grass, while Gypsy George and Mack Leek 



A CERTAIN FERRYMAN 


69 


were walking toward the ferryman’s shack, 
which they presently entered. 

Sanl secured his bundles to a stout stick, flung 
this over his shoulder, and whistling to Dhu, 
faced the low rise leading away from the bank 
of the stream. 



VI 


Concerning a moon-eyed horse and a star-eyed 
girl . 

Gaining the level, our youthful adventurer saw 
what appeared a goodly land. To right and left 
was a broad stretch of rolling country, cultivated 
fields dotted with timber groups. Far in the 
distance, in the direction of his home, misty, up- 
heaved shapes suggested a mountainous district. 
In another locality, and quite near at hand, was 
a forest. Before him, in the middle distance, he 
saw a handsome brick house with colonial front, 
resting upon the crest of a slight eminence and 
surrounded by stately trees. This was the only 
habitation visible. But the little village he sought 
could not be far away, so he set out briskly on 
his march. 

He had been trudging along for perhaps fifteen 
minutes, when a sudden, short scream, as of fright, 
brought him up quickly. It sounded almost in 
his ear. Dhu, trotting at the roadside, stopped 
also, and cocked one ear forward inquiringly. 
The travelers had come to where, just ahead of 
them, a lane bisected the highway. The fence 
corner here was dense with cedar bushes, and ob¬ 
structed the view as effectually as a wall. In a 
few quick steps Saul had rounded this corner, 
then stopped abruptly, overcome by amazement. 

He saw a long spring wagon, two of its wheels 
in a ditch and two on the road, its body thereby 
inclined at a perilous angle. To this wagon was 
70 


V 


A STAR-EYED GIRL 


71 


a horse, that was likewise in the ditch, with one 
foreleg over the shaft. Clinging to the seat of 
the wagon, with bine bonnet fallen back from her 
head, was the rarest vision which had ever de¬ 
lighted a man’s eyes. Clad in the daintiest of 
frocks, her hair a-wave in the morning breeze, 
she gazed at young Brentley with large, violet 
eyes wherein distress and appeal were blended 
most charmingly. 

For a fleeting moment Saul stared at this be¬ 
wildering apparition, the while some very peculiar 
sensations began to manifest themselves. On the 
border of his mind the face of Jinsy Galory 
dawned and faded, then he was leaping forward 
with his cap in his hand and a smile on his lips. 

“Let me help you,” he exclaimed, casting his 
stick and bundles on the ground and approaching 
the horse, which stood patiently in its awkward 
position. “Gad! I’m glad I happened by!” 

And as his feet moved toward the ditch his 
eyes still clung to the maiden’s face, which was 
in truth as lovely as any flower. Delicately tinted 
it was, like a white morning-glory shaded with 
pink, while her mouth and chin were snares for 
reason. So, because his eyes went one way and 
his feet another, it came about that Saul tripped 
at the edge of the road, and almost fell. Then 
the girl laughed, and spoke in a voice like the 
melody of a small woodland stream running over 
pebbles. 

“Oh, sir! Be careful! You’re not watching 
where you’re going!” 

Saul’s cheeks reddened, but he answered boldly: 

“How could one cast his eyes below, lady, when 
you are above?” 

The vision in the wagon smiled at his speech, 
as though pleased, and dropped her head. 

“Will you be kind enough to help me in this 



72 


A BLUEGRASS CAVALIER 


mischance which has befalien !” she begged, coyly 
flashing her eyes at the stalwart young man. 

4 4 That I will, with all my heart! ” Saul answered, 
and began to investigate the trouble. 4 4 If I may 
ask,” he resumed, tugging at the buckle which 
held the belly-band, 4 4 how in the world does it 
happen that your horse stands in this ditch when 
he should be on the road!” 

44 I scarcely know, sir,” returned she of the 
distracting hair and eyes like violets washed with 
dew. 4 4 Did never behaved this way before. I 
have driven him often, and always he has traveled 
well and truly. We were jogging forward here a 
few minutes ago, when all at once, without reason 
or provocation, Did ambled into the ditch, and 
almost upset me. I think maybe I screamed just 
a little.” 

44 Did?' 9 queried Saul, pulling mightily at the 
bound strap, while the horse persistently swelled 
out Ms chest in resistance. 44 Did you say Did?” 

4 4 Did! Yes, sir; I said Did. ’’ 

4 4 You must pardon me if I appear thickheaded, 
but is Did the name of your horse!’’ 

Now the seraph on the seat threw up her chin 
and vented a bubbling cadenza of mirth. Twice 
the joyous laugh was repeated, and the man felt 
a wave of delight flooding him. 

44 Egad!” thought he, 44 have I unwittingly 
strayed into heaven!” 

“I forgot you were a stranger!” apologized 
the merry Venus. 

44 I’ll have to cut your harness, lady,” said Saul, 
ceasing his efforts to release the buckle, 4 4 in order 
to set things right . Your horse is bound tight 
and fast, and I cannot loose him. . . . You 

were going to explain!” he added, feeling for his 
knife. 

4 4 Yes, it was a fancy of mine, you must know, 



A STAR-EYED GIRL 


73 


and I suspect a foolish one. I named him Did. 
Did is short for Didymus, whose given name was 
Thomas, who was an apostle, or a disciple, or 
something. But there was a horse called Tom 
on the plantation already, and Didymus is hor¬ 
ribly ugly, so I just shortened it. Which of course 
was stupid.” 

‘ 4 Which was exceedingly clever,” corrected 
young Brentley. “I congratulate you upon your 
loriginality. . . . Now, lady, your Did is free, 

but as he is too heavy to lift off the shaft, I must 
try and back the wagon. So if you will graciously 
get out for a moment, to lighten it, I think you 
can resume your journey soon.” 

By far the simplest way out of the predicament 
would have been to lead the animal forward, after 
loosening straps and traces, and Saul knew this 
quite well. But he was in no hurry for this de¬ 
lightful incident to conclude, and accordingly he 
hurriedly invented the plan now proposed. It 
would delay matters in a satisfactory manner, and 
it plainly was his duty as a gentleman to assist 
the girl to alight. He started eagerly forward as 
he spoke, with this purpose in mind, but the 
maiden was up and out with a quick leap before 
he could gain her side. 

“Can’t I help you some way?” she asked, com¬ 
ing shyly toward him, smoothing the front of her 
flowered dress. 

“I fear not, other than by getting down, which 
you have already done. I was coming to help 
you-” in gentle reproach. 

“That would have been gallant, but quite use¬ 
less. I am active, and very strong.” 

“Will Miss Goliath kindly bear the burden of 
my cap, then, as I proceed with the work of 
rescue?” 



74 


A BLUEGRASS CAVALIER 


Bowing low, he extended the article mentioned 
with a whimsical smile. 

44 Yon please to be facetious, Sir Stranger,” she 
said, falling in with his mood and making him a 
slight curtsy; “but I will hold your cap for you.” 

“Thanks. Now kindly stand at the apostle’s 
head while I pull the wagon from him. Here, give 
me your hand! This bank is steep. ’’ 

So, willy-nilly, he grasped her hand firmly and 
helped her into the ditch. Then, leaving her 
caressing Did’s nose and half frowning because 
of his temerity, Saul went to the rear of the light 
vehicle, and hove. The effort was successful. 

In a short time horse and wagon were safe in 
the lane once more, and as the man got Did in 
the shafts and patched as best he could the strap 
he had cut, the girl stood to one side with her back 
half turned, making friends with Dhu. 

“You’re a pretty thing!” Saul heard her say. 

And as he looked, she bent and clasped her 
fingers around the dog’s sharp muzzle, and 
brought her eyes close to his. “You’re honest, 
and faithful, and courageous, and true. I’m quite 
sure you’d never touch anyone’s hand without 
permission, and then it would be an humble 
caress. ’ ’ 

4 4 Gracious! ’ ’ thought Saul. 4 4 Is that meant for 
me ? But I am sure I was careful, and altogether 
respectful!” 

The girl glanced over her shoulder. 

“I like your dog!” she called. 

44 He’s far ahead of most men,” Brentley re¬ 
plied, his neck growing warm. “I can depend 
upon him in any emergency. He’s the soul of 
loyalty. ... I think I have discovered the 
reason why your horse behaved so queerly,” he 
continued. 

44 Oh, have you!” cried the girl, brightly, as she 



A STAR-EYED GIRL 


75 


hastened up. “I’m so glad. I couldn’t imagine 
what the trouble was, and I was thinking I 
couldn’t drive him again. What is it?” 

44 He’s moon-eyed,” said Saul, picking up stick 
and bundles and standing somewhat apart. 

“ Moon-eyed 

‘ ‘ Undoubtedly. ’ ’ 

44 How did you—are you a horse doctor?” 

“Not by profession, but I know something of 
such things.” 

‘ ‘ I never heard of it. Is it a disease ? ’ ’ 

“Yes, and very serious. I would advise you to 
get another animal when you drive. ’ ’ 

“Tell me about it—and show me. Won’t you, 
please? Poor old Did!” 

She patted his neck compassionately . 

“Look at his eyes,” said Brentley, coming and 
standing beside her. “See how cloudy they are?— 
the milky-looking substance floating in them? In 
time he will go blind. ’ ’ 

“And is that why he got off the road?” 

4 4 Exactly. He can barely see now. ’ ’ 

“But why do they call it that? His eyes don’t 
look like the moon. ’ ’ 

“No. The moon is supposed to affect them. 
Just whether it is the light of the moon or the 
dark of the moon I can’t say, but one of those 
periods is supposed to produce this condition, and 
that is when a horse is moon-eyed.” 

He was staring at her now with a peculiar in¬ 
tentness, but without boldness, 

“What is it, sir?” she asked. 

“I was thinking about eyes,” he answered, 
soberly. 

‘ 4 Eyes ? ’ ’ 

“Yes, in relation to the heavenly bodies. Here 
I have found a moon-eyed horse, and all the time 



76 


A BLUEGRASS CAVALIER 


I have been in the presence of a star-eyed girl!” 

‘ ‘ Oh, sir! How can you ? ’ ’ 

But she was blushing hotly, and vaguely feeling 
for Dhu’s ear as he sat almost against her. 

‘ ‘ Indeed, I must go now,’ 9 she added, in charm¬ 
ing confusion. “Eve an errand in New Market 
and must be home soon. Let me thank you for 
your assistance. I don’t know what would have 
become of me without it. ’ ’ 

She extended her arm as she spoke, in frank 
cordiality. 

“It would have fallen to the lot of some 
worthier person to serve you,” said Saul, taking 
her hand and holding it closely—and he marveled 
at the feel of it in his big grip; so small, and soft, 
and cool, and comradely in its clasp. “You go to 
New Market?” 

“ Yes; ” gently but firmly withdrawing her hand. 

‘ 4 That is my destination, too. ’ ’ 

“Indeed?” 

“And your horse isn’t safe.” 

“I think I can manage him now. It isn’t far.” 

“And you may get ditched again.” 

“I will be more careful.” 

“And he will draw better with two in the 
wagon. ’ ’ 

‘ 4 Sir, you leave me no choice. Get in. ’ ’ 

‘ 6 Indeed I thank you! But I felt that you would 
have pity on a weary traveler. When you are 
seated, I will join you.” 

He cast his bundles and stick in the bed of the 
wagon, and turned to assist her. 

But the lady held back. 

“You must get in first,” she said. 

“But gallantry demands-” 

“Gallantry go hang!” interrupted she of the 
wonderful eyes. “Are you as stupid as you are 
strong?” 




A STAR-EYED GIRL 


77 


So she reviled him, frowning terribly and 
stamping an invisible foot. 

‘‘ Stupid I may be, ’ ’ retorted our hero, bowing 
slightly; “but I fail to see how the occasion should 
give a gentleman precedence-” 

“Climb up!” she burst out. “Don’t you see 
how high the step is?” 

She whirled as she finished, so that he could not 
see her face. 

Saul, feeling foolish, meekly got into the wagon. 

“I don’t think there is any chance of rain,” 
he observed, presently, sweeping the sky with a 
comprehensive glance. 

A swishing and soft crushing of fabric told him 
that his companion had found his side. 

He gathered up the lines awkwardly. 

“Shall I drive?” he asked, in a very humble 
voice. 

“No; I want to show you that I can manage 
Did, if he is moon-eyed. ’’ 

He gave her the lines, crossed his legs, and 
stared straight ahead. 

And in this wise they were rolling directly down 
the weed-bordered road, Dhu trailing with his in¬ 
quisitive right ear up, as though he did not under¬ 
stand. 



vn 


Relating the most diverting conversation of two 
young people, and entering the tavern of The 
Leaning Stump. 

“Had it not occurred to you,” said Miss Blue 
Bonnet, “that I might like to know your name? 
I might meet a friend, or something, and what 
could I say?” 

The young man uncrossed his legs at this, and 
turned his head. Only the tip of a small, straight 
nose could he see. 

“Had it not occurred to you,” he retorted, 
“that sunbonnets, while probably good for the 
complexion, might prove most annoying at 
times?” 

“You are impudent!” she said, positively, and 
slapped Bid’s round back with a line. 

“You are captivating,” he answered, leaning 
forward to peep around the provoking barrier. 

She was smiling. 

‘ ‘ Sir, I cannot ride with a stranger! ’ ’ 

“Nor shall you. Mjy name is Saul.” 

She threw him a dainty glance of mischief. 

“Saul?” 

The word was like a note of music to the man’s 
ears. He did not know that she had honeyed the 
monosyllable purposely. 

“Saul Brentley.” 

“Do you preach?”—artlessly. 

“No; but sometimes I swear!” 

“Oh! . . . But there was a Saul who 
78 


DIVERTING CONVERSATION 79 


preached, you know. I have read of it—some- 
where.’’ 

But that Saul was not very complimentary to 
your sex. I think I must be unlike him, in every 
way.” J 

Came a silence when the plodding of Bid’s 
leisurely feet on the soft earth was the only sound. 
Very suddenly: 

“My name is Dorothy,” he heard. 

“Glorious! None other would suit you.” 

“My middle name is Mehitabel.” 

“0 Lord! Why did you tell me?” 

“Do you dare ridicule my name, sir?” 

She turned toward him, stern and frigid. 

“Don’t ask me to say it’s pretty—that second, 
awful name! How could they treat a helpless 
infant that way?” 

There was something so droll and so pitiable 
in his puckered face that Dorothy Mehitabel 
laughed. 

44 1 hate it, too! ’ ’ she confided. 4 4 It belonged to 
father ’s sister, and auntie insisted on my wearing 
it, also.” 

44 And you have lived to be grown! But Dor¬ 
othy is sweet as clover-blossoms.” 

44 Do you write poetry, Mr. Saul?” 

“I think I could today. Let’s see: 

Girl of the honey-colored hair, 

A poet loves you, so beware! 

How does that sound?” 

4 4 Sweet. ’ ’ 

4 4 Truly?” 

44 Why shouldn’t it? It brings to mind the 
honey jar at home!” 

44 You mock me, Lady Dorothy! I rhyme for 
you no more.” 



80 A BLUEGRASS CAVALIER 


He thrust his hands in his pockets, and sighed. 

“New Market is just around yonder hill, ?? she 
said, a few moments later. 

“Which reminds me that I have an urgent mis¬ 
sion to perform, one in executing which I must 
beg your assistance. 7 7 

“How can I help? 77 

“I have business of the first importance with 
Captain Jonathan Pembroke. Whereaway does 
he live? 77 

Now the staid and plodding Did felt a hard- 
pulled bit fretting his mouth, and he obediently 
stopped. 

4 4 Captain Jonathan Pembroke! 7 7 

With knees swung around so that they almost 
touched Saul’s leg, Miss Dorothy repeated the 
name as if to assure herself it had been uttered. 

“I must speak with him on a vital subject as 
quickly as possible. Do you know him? 77 

4 4 Captain Pembroke is my father! 7 7 

44 Your—father! 77 faltered Saul. And as his 
hand moved toward an inner pocket: 44 Then 
maybe you know Margot LaTour? 77 

The fresh face into which he looked paled white 
at his words, and the lines dropped from her 
hands. Then the crimson blood rushed up to her 
cheeks, her eyes sparkled, and with an impulsive 
forward movement she clasped Saul’s arm, grip¬ 
ping it fiercely. 

“Fbr heaven’s sake, sir, tell me all you know, 
and be quick! She was taken from the stage 
coach, abducted, a week ago. My friend, on her 
way to visit me! Deef Dick knew nothing except 
the highwaymen were masked, and the leader 
was a big man. They want ransom—ten thou¬ 
sand dollars—and Margot is an orphan, and 
poor! The country has been searched high and 



DIVERTING CONVERSATION 81 


low, every corner. We can find no trace. Ok 
sir! speak! speak! My precious Margot!’ 9 

As the rushing words ceased Dorothy bowed 
her head, while her young form heaved with great 
sobs which she could not subdue. Still her hands 
held haul’s arm, and she leaned toward him, sob¬ 
bing, sobbing. 

/.‘In mercy’s name, dear lady, be calm!” he ex¬ 
claimed, sitting helpless, because the letter he 
wanted was in a pocket which must be reached 
with his left hand, and that was the arm to which 
the distressed young woman clung. “I can’t 
stand tears—a woman’s tears—a pretty woman’s 
tears! Indeed I can’t. I shall surely do some¬ 
thing I shouldn’t. I feel myself growing unac¬ 
countable. Please! Please, Dorothy, try to con¬ 
trol your grief. We will find your friend—I 
promise you upon my honor!” 

And whether it was because he could not help 
it, or whether his own words emboldened him, he 
bent and kissed one of the tight little hands. 

Miss Pembroke loosed her hold upon him at 
this, and finding a handkerchief somewhere, 
pressed it to her eyes with a long, shivering sigh. 
Then she looked at him in pathetic misery, her 
lips still tremulous and her round young bosom 
a-heave. 

Quietly, and with sympathetic face, Saul gave 
her the note which had come to him in such a 
miraculous way. 

She read it eagerly, with jerky, fluttering 
breaths, and at the words where the pencil had 
failed to mark and the indentations were almost 
gone, she leaned toward Saul to get him to help 
decipher it. And he, sly fellow, taking advantage 
of her absorption in the message, leaned to her 
in. order to see the better, and as a result of these 
joint leanings their shoulders were presently 





82 


A BLUEGRASS CAVALIER 


fitted snugly together, and Saul was rewarded by 
a delicate wafture, as of rose petals, from her 
hair. But the reading was over far too quickly, 
albeit the graceless adventurer stumbled and 
stuttered and dallied until he feared his ruse 
would be discovered, and then Miss Dorothy must 
needs draw back to a safe distance, and fold her 
hands in her lap with face suddenly grown grave 
and thoughtful. 

“How did you come by this letter?” she asked, 
speaking as though to herself. 

So he told her of his trip down the river, merely 
mentioning his home, for there was a certain lass 
back there who already, it seemed to him, had 
receded in his affections; of his waking in the 
misty morning to find the bottle and the bit of 
wood, which he produced in evidence; of his meet¬ 
ing with Mordecai Fode and the bear; and of his 
concluding adventure at the ferry. 

“Gypsy George is a rascal,” said the girl, still 
musingly. 

“He told me your father had wronged him!” 
blurted out Saul. 

“Father was his best friend until he had to 
drive him from the place. Some day you may 
hear the story.” 

She put finger and thumb to her lower lip and 
squeezed it in the middle to a pouting patch of 
crimson. Her eyes were ruminative. Saul was 
silent. Back of the pinched-out lip two small 
white teeth were gleaming. Would it be much 
to his discredit to declare that the man was not 
thinking of luckless Margot that moment? For a 
truth his mind dwelt on—kisses! 

Her hand dropped, the teeth vanished, and her 
next sentence brought Saul back to the problem 
of the moment. 

‘ 4 1 believe Mack Leek tried to take you! ’ ’ 




DIVERTING CONVERSATION 83 


“It’s been a toss-np in my judgment, with the 
odds that way,” agreed Brentley. “But why in 
the world should he want me unless-” 

He rounded his eyes and whistled. 

“What do you suspect, Dorothy!” 

‘ ‘ I suspect Mack Leek has something to do with 
Margot’s disappearance, Mr. Brentley.” 

‘ ‘ Oh, bother the mister! We can’t be real good 
and close friends a-mistering and a-missing each 
other!’’ 

The lady’s eyebrows promptly arched like rain¬ 
bows. 

“Who, I wonder, would have the presumption 
to suppose we should be ‘good, close friends’! 
What would you think of a girl who would admit 
to her friendship any stray wanderer who might 
come up from the river! Shame on you, Mr. 
Saul!” 

“Shame or no, you are Dorothy to me,” 
averred Brentley, stoutly. “The name is too 
pretty to mar with a silly prefix. . . . This 

big man with the big beard, now. He told me he 
dealt in horses. ’ ’ 

A thrill ran through Dorothy’s frame at the 
polite stubbornness of the handsome stranger, but 
she thought it best to frown somewhat, as though 
displeased, as she picked up the reins again, and 
said: 

‘ ‘ Which is true enough—cluck-cluck! ’ ’ with her 
tongue in her cheek. And as Did started out 
again— “But tales are told, nevertheless, in 
which his name is spoken. Two miles beyond the 
ferry the Nashville road winds over the knobs, 
and more than one hold-up has taken place re¬ 
cently. People are afraid to speak out, but they 
whisper together in the tavern o’ nights.” 

“Is there a band!” 

“Usually four or five. They mask, but the 




84 


A BLUEGRASS CAVALIER 


leader is always the same—a large man who never 
speaks. His underlings do the necessary talk¬ 
ing.” 

“And knowing I had come down the river, 
Mack Leek suspicioned I might have discovered 
something. He would have held me a prisoner, 
do you suppose?” 

“Yes, until Margot is ransomed, which I fear 
will never be. Father has written to her uncle, 
who is a tailor in Philadelphia, but he is poor. 
Oh! I don’t know what we will do! ’ ’ 

They clattered over a small bridge, and began 
to slowly ascend a long hill, the horse at a very 
slow walk. 

“From what you say, I think we had better 
eliminate the question of money, ” said Saul. 

“Then what shall we do? Poor Margot will 
die!” 

“No, we will have to bring Margot away,” re¬ 
plied Brentley, emphatically. 

“But how, from such a fearful place?” 

“By hard, solid work, by craft—-and maybe by 
main force.” 

“The demand for ransom held also a threat 
against any who sought to find her. ’ ’ 

“But you have searched, anyhow.” 

“Yes, father has gone about a great deal him¬ 
self, though he is getting old, and has persuaded 
others to look. He was a soldier, you know, and 
he has no idea of fear.” 

“How far away are these high cliffs which wall 
the river?” 

“I don’t know—several miles. Maybe seven or 
eight. It is very rocky and desolate there.” 

“I can’t see how they reached the hole midway 
up that face of stone,” mused Saul. “But if she 
and the old woman with her got there, it is cer- 



DIVERTING CONVERSATION 85 


tain others can. There could be no better hiding 
place in all the world.’’ 

Miss Pembroke remained silent, and Saul, fas¬ 
tening his gaze on a tiny black spot just at the 
hem of his companion’s spreading skirts, which 
he guessed to be the toe of a slipper, began to 
think furiously. At last the corner of his mouth 
twisted into something like a smile, and he 
brought his palms down on his knees with the 
hearty query: 

“Will you make a compact with me?” 

The lady jumped, so abrupt had been the move¬ 
ment, and lifted a face half surprised, half in¬ 
dignant. 

“Gracious, sir! Would you frighten one out of 
her skin ? What do you mean ? ’ ’ 

‘ ‘ I have been thinking, ’ ’ replied Saul, in no wise 
taken aback by the rebuke. 

“They must have been strenuous thoughts to 
have fathered such an action! My heart is still 
racing. ’ ’ 

She placed one hand upon her breast, and re¬ 
garded him reproachfully. 

“lam very contrite, and ask your pardon. But 
a sort of revelation came to me, and I smote my 
knees under the force of it. Now, will you make 
a pact?” 

So boyish he appeared, and his face so a-gleam 
as with some hidden mischief, that Miss Pem¬ 
broke relented, and deigned to smile. 

“Sir, your question is as foolish as foolish can 
be. How can I make a pact until I know the 
terms? Do you take me for a ninny?” 

4 ‘ Rather a Portia, if you will allow the compli¬ 
ment. ... I may linger hereabout for sev¬ 
eral months.” 

“Well, sir?” 



86 


A BLUEGRASS CAVALIER 


4 ‘ I am a gentleman without employment so long 
as I tarry. ’ ’ 

“ Proceed. ” 

“I have a fair intellect, some courage, and much 
bodily strength.” 

‘ ‘And a perfectly lovely dog. ’ ’ 

“And if you were not you, I would shake you 
soundly for impertinence to your elders! ’ ? 

“Then why not come to the point?” laughed 
she of the saucy tongue. “You know I am con¬ 
sumed with curiosity, and you are deliberately 
provoking me!” 

“I am merely paving the wav for my proposi¬ 
tion, which is as follows: I will engage to fetch 
Margot LaTour safely away from the villains into 
whose hands she has fallen, if you will be my 
good, close friend, call me Saul, and allow me to 
call you Dorothy. ’ ’ 

Now a bright, happy gleam came into the lady’s 
eyes, and she caught her breath sharply. 

“Oh, Saul!” she murmured. And again: 
“Saul! Saul! Saul!” 

“Then you agree, little Dorothy?” he ques¬ 
tioned, eagerly bending forward. 

“Your contract said naught of a qualifying 
diminutive, sir,” she replied, her lids dropping, 
“but I think I will agree, because—I love Mar¬ 
got much. . . . And are you sure you will 

succeed? Tis a dangerous task, and first you 
must find her prison. ’ ’ 

“If you will have faith in me I will surely suc¬ 
ceed,” declared Brentley, a touch of tenderness 
softening his words. “It is not the spirit of ad¬ 
venture alone which impels me to undertake this 
rescue. ’ ’ 

So low and sweet had his voice become that 
Miss Pembroke felt her cheeks tingle, and her 
composure was direly threatened. But the patient 



DIVERTING CONVERSATION 


87 


Did had now surmounted the hill and broke into 
a trot, and this simple fact saved the situation. 

‘ ‘ There is New Market! ’ ’ cried Dorothy. ‘ ‘ Now 
I must buy some sugar, and some goods from 
which to make shifts for our pickaninnies, then 
we’ll go back to my father with your story and 
your offer of help. ’ ’ 

“But not our compact!” protested Brentley. 
“That is between us alone.” 

“That is between us alone, Saul,” she an¬ 
swered, smiling at him comrade-wise. 

Guiding the wagon alongside a porch fronting 
a low building to which they had come, Dorothy 
jumped out and ran inside. 

Saul looked about him. 

The place was not a village, and scarcely a ham¬ 
let. The general store at which they had stopped 
seemed to be the only one there. A few humble 
residences were visible. From a tumble-down 
shack a short distance ahead came the ring of 
iron, indicating a smithy. Diagonally across the 
road from where the young man sat was a story- 
and-a-half wooden structure with sloping eaves. 
The roof was of clapboards, and so overgrown 
with moss that it seemed as if covered with green 
sod. Just one side the door was a huge stump, 
long since divested of all bark, which leaned at 
quite an angle. This, reflected our hero, was 
doubtless “the public kept by Cadwallader Hull,” 
of which the skins-and-leather man had spoken. 

“So,” mused Brentley, “while my lady shops 
I will go take a glass of something with Master 
Hull.” 

And leaping down, he crossed the road and en¬ 
tered the tavern. 

The room was poorly lighted by one small win¬ 
dow with grimy panes, and held but two people. 
One of these was an uncouth individual in non- 



88 


A BLUEGBASS CAVALIER 


descript garments. He sat in a big armchair, 
with extended legs and head thrown back. De¬ 
spite the hour he was sound asleep, and snoring 
loudly. The other person was the landlord, who, 
back of the bar, was busily engaged polishing a 
pewter mug. He was a rotund, rubicund fellow, 
with bald head and broad smile, though there was 
no apparent cause for mirth. Saul drew a coin 
from his waistcoat pocket and walked toward him. 

“A swallow of your best ale, Master Hull, if 
you please,” he said. 

“Ha! ‘Master Hull!’ ” exclaimed mine host, 
his smile expanding to a grin. “You know me, 
eh! Ever’body knows Cadwallader Hull o’ the 
Leaning Stump! Ale, is it? Aye, the best that 
ever run down your throttle, or I’m a common 
liar. You shall drink it out o’ this great mug, 
too, because you called me ‘Master Hull.’ I’ll 
prove it to ’em yet.” He turned to a large cask 
with a wooden spigot, talking all the time. “You, 
sir, bein’ a stranger from God-knows-where, can’t 
know of the argymints that go on in this very 
room when the boys come in for a drop o’ some¬ 
thin’. . . . There, young master. If you 

don’t say it’s the grandes’ ale that ever tickled 
your tongue you can keep your money, and I’m a 
common liar to boot. . . . The argymints that 

go on. Come two more days, for a week solid 
we’ve had it up who’s the fust man o’ this here 
section; meanin’, o’ course, New Market and the 
adj’inin’ country, and meanin’ by ‘fust man’ the 
best and wides’ known. . . \ Another mug? 

Ha! Ha! What’d I tell you? The like’s not 
found in the whole state, if I do say it. But a 
man to do well must look fust to the quality of his 
goods, and then he must be square and honest. 
. . . . Well, o’ course some say this man and 

some say that, but 1 say as how Cadwallader Hull 



DIVERTING CONVERSATION 


89 


is the fust man o’ this section. And when the 
boys drop in to-night I’ll have one on ’em, for 
two minutes agone didn’t you, a teetotal stranger 
from God-knows-where, walk up to this bar and 
say: ‘A swallow of your best ale, Master Hull’! 
I ’ll prove to ’em who’s the fust man! ’ ’ 

He smoothed the apron over his big round 
front, and rubbed his hands gleefully. 

11 Your brew certainly is delicious,” agreed 
Saul, wondering if the man’s tongue wagged in 
this manner for all his customers. 

“Thankee kindly, sir! Thankee kindly! And 
if I may ask, how far have you traveled, sir!” 

“Oh, sixty miles, more or less.” 

“A teetotal stranger!” 

“Yes; I was never here before.” 

“Sixty mile or more—a teetotal stranger— 
never here before—and walk up to my bar and 
call me ‘Master Hull!’ I’ll prove it to ’em. I’ll 
show the boys who’s the fust man.” 

Saul leisurely filled his pipe, walked to the door 
and looked out, saw that the wagon was still 
standing before the store, and said: 

“I met one by the river this morning who told 


“Never mind what anybody told you!” broke 
in mine host, with up thrown hands, a swift alarm 
transforming his merry features into an expres¬ 
sion almost grotesque. “I don’t want to hear— 
I won’t hear! Tell me of something else—your¬ 
self, your journey! I need this story for the 
boys— of how you came from more than sixty 
mile away and called me ‘Master Hull’ the same 
as one o’ them!” 

“I see— I see,” smiled Brentley. “And you 
may tell them with a clear conscience if I say no 
more. Very well; I am silent. But who is this 
that slumbers here when most people are awake!” 




90 


A BLUEGRASS CAVALIER 


Cadwallader Hull waddled around his bar and 
took up a position by Saul's side before he an¬ 
swered. 

“That is Noey Mole, the preacher.’’ 

“Preacher, did you say!” 

Mine host placed his hands on his fat sides and 
chuckled gleefully. 

“I said that is Noey Mole, the preacher, and I 
say it ag’in.” 

Once more his purplish jowls shook with 
laughter. 

Saul regarded the bibulous nose of the noisy 
sleeper, and his wofully sad attire. 

“Pray explain to me how that comes, Master 
Hull!” he said. “I would call yonder fellow a 
tramp. ’ ’ 

‘ ‘ And you would call main right, young sir. A 
wastrel he is, and he tinkers with boots and sad¬ 
dles for a livin’; his livin’ bein’ all he can drink 
each day. Hark ye! ” a squat, fat thumb prodded 
Brentley’s ribs gently, “he says hisself he was 
a preacher once, and that good liquor took his job 
away from him. Sure it is he’s heavy on the 
Scriptur, and can say it to you by the hour. His 
strong point now is to argy in favor o ’ drink, and 
he’ll p’int to passages in Holy Writ to s’port 
’im. ’ ’ 

“Hm-m-m,” mused Saul; “I never heard quite 
the like.” 

“They say as how he preaches yet sometimes, 
all to hisself. He sleeps in his box of a shop, a 
stone’s cast down the road, and Hefty Will, the 
smith, tells as how he heard ’im one night about 
cock-crow. Will’s home is just across the road, 
and Noey was a-talkin’ and a-harang’in’ so loud 
it woke ’im up. So he dresses, does Will, and 
slips out to look about the matter. And th’oo 
the windy he saw ’im, a-th’owin’ his arms and 



DIVERTING CONVERSATION 


91 


a-bowin’ and a-perkin’ his head, the same like 
people was a-settin’ and a-listenin’. Noey was 
talkin ’loud and strong, and Will says ’twas a 
main fine sermon he heard that night, ’bout the 
end o’ the world and the Day o’ Jedgment.” 

44 Where did he come from, I wonder?” 

4 4 That no one knows. For a half score o ’ years 
he’s tinkered with boots and saddles and sich in 
his little box of a shop a stone’s cast from this 
door. He calls hisseff the preacher when he’s in 
’is liquor, and that’s most o’ the time. It’s fair 
amazin’ how much he can hold.” 

The sound of voices floated in from across the 
road; one the treble of a‘woman. 

Saul turned with alacrity. 

“I must be going, Master Hull, but I will see 
you again. Your ale is excellent, and I shall want 
another mug soon.” 

44 Aye, none better can be brewed, or I’m a com¬ 
mon liar. Thankee kindly, and a fair mornin’ to 
you, young sir! ” 

Miss Pembroke was already on the seat of the 
spring wagon and looking about perplexedly when 
Brentley issued from the tavern. He hurried to 
her side. 

44 What, sir; tippling so early?” she queried, 
drawing Did’s head around. 

44 Only a mug of ale to pass the time, Dorothy,” 
he replied, taking infinite relish in using her name 
unrebuked. 44 I find the landlord of the Leaning 
Stump a quaint chap, and garrulous as a crow. 
Now, just to try out our compact, suppose you 
prove to me that you have not forgotten who I 
am. ’ ’ 

44 I never break my word,-” 

44 Well?” eagerly. 

4 4 S-a-u-1. ’ ’ 

44 That’s cheating.” 



92 


A BLUEGRASS CAVALIER 


“It isn’t.” 

“It is.” 

“It isn’t!” with the impact of a sole on the 
wagon bed. 

“ Yon promised to call me Saul,” with assumed 
doggedness. 

“I didn’t promise to keep that word on my 
tongue perpetually.” 

“But just now you avoided it—cruelly and 
maliciously. ’ ’ 

‘ ‘ I wanted to show you I could spell. ’ ’ 

“Very well. Spell ‘prevaricate.’ ” 

“You are horrid, Saul Brentley, and I despise 
you! Now in punishment for your offense I shall 
not say another word to you until we come to the 
spot where Did stepped off the road.” 

And forthwith and immediately Miss Dorothy 
Mehitabel Pembroke compressed her pretty lips, 
pulled her blue sunbonnet over her prettier eyes, 
and gave her undivided attention to the horse, 
nor could all the importunities of the young gen¬ 
tleman by her side gain a word from her until 
they had reached the point which she had desig¬ 
nated. Then: 

“You have been in disgrace,” she said, turning 
to him with grave eyes. “I should think you 
would feel very much ashamed to have to stand in 
a figurative corner, as you have, because of im¬ 
proper speech.” Here her mouth shaped to a 
smile, and she shook her head. ‘ ‘ Saul, Saul, you 
naughty boy!” 

Brentley kept his hands on his knees by a great 
effort of will. 

“Tell me, please,” he begged, “is coquetry 
natural or acquired?” 

“La, sir!” with a toss of her head which sent 
the sunbonnet to the back of her neck, “what 
would the likes of me, a simple country girl, 



DIVERTING CONVERSATION 


93 


know of coquetry? Besides, ’tis something I’ve 
always thought beneath a real lady. Don’t you 
think so?” 

“I can scarcely agree with you. I believe it is 
as natural to a woman as teeth and eyes, and quite 
as necessary to her moral balance as the others 
are to her physical appearance. Imagine how 
bereft you would feel without it.” 

“If Oh, sir, how can you say it?” 

And from her fringed eyes straightway there 
sped a half-dozen shafts which Saul made no 
effort to parry. 

Coming to the end of a long row of locust trees 
bordering the roadside, the young man saw once 
more the house which had attracted his attention 
when he came up from the river that morning. 

“Who lives in the house, yonder, Dorothy?” 

“Captain Jonathan Pembroke, his sister Me- 
hitabel, and his daughter Dorothy, three cats 
which belong to the aforesaid sister Mehitabel, 
and a broken-winged mockingbird which belongs 
to daughter Dorothy.” 

Saul cast a look of suspicion at the speaker, 
but there was nothing about her face to indicate 
that she was other than serious. She was flapping 
a line at a horsefly on Did’s shining back, and 
when she presently tumbled the little pest into 
the dust she gave a jump and a chirp of delight. 

“See!” she cried, with childish animation. 
“Did knew I was after that fly which was biting 
him, and he didn’t move any faster although I 
rapped him sharply.” 

“It would be a foolish horse that would hurry 
in your company, anyway. . . . But I was 

thinking of your household. Its personnel is the 
same as mine. There’s dad, and Aunt Emmeline, 
and myself.” 

“It is a coinci— oh, yonder’s father !” 



94 


A BLUEGRASS CAVALIER 


They were drawing near the front of the dwell¬ 
ing, which sat rather back from the road, and 
Saul observed that a figure had come out upon 
the lower portico. 

“How glad he’ll be to meet you and hear the 
news about dear Margot. And how we must plan! 
To think she may be with us in a day or two! 

. . . . Get up, Did! Lazybones! Get up! 

Remember, Saul, you’ve promised to bring her 
back to us! ” 

And before the flushed, eager face she thrust 
toward him Saul suddenly found himself dumb, 
and could only gaze at her in reverential wonder, 
and nod his head like a silly schooboy when prom¬ 
ising to be good. And directly they had drawn up 
to an old-fashioned wooden stile set in the plank 
yard fence, and Mistress Dorothy, casting lines to 
the wind, was up and out and down, and across 
the lawn toward her leisurely approaching sire. 
A half-grown negro appeared from somewhere 
and stood waiting to take charge of the horse. 
So our hero bestirred himself and got together 
his bundles and his stick. Then he stepped onto 
the stile, whither Dhu had preceded him, and 
patiently abided developments. 

Dorothy had met her father, and was evidently 
pouring her news into his ears, for presently the 
old gentleman stopped, placed a hand on each of 
her shoulders, and standing her at arms’ length, 
propounded some question which Saul did not 
hear. Upon receiving her answer he wheeled, 
and arm-in-arm they advanced toward the stile. 
As Saul came down the steps to meet them, he 
saw that Captain Pembroke was low and stumpy 
of build, and that his genuine, strong face was 
fringed with a short beard. 

“This is wonderful new^s you bring us, Mr. 
Brentley! ” he exclaimed, grasping the young fel- 



DIVERTING CONVERSATION 


95 


low’s hand warmly and starting back toward the 
house, leading his guest. “We’ll go in and have 
it all over. Margot must be half crazy, poor little 
chit! . . . Brentley—haven’t I heard the 

name ? ’ ’ 

He turned from Saul to Dorothy as though for 
corroboration. 

“I can’t say, father. I’m sure I never heard 
it till this morning.” 

“The farm’s near Hillsboro, in Galloway 
county,” volunteered Saul. “It was originally a 
Revolutionary grant, and has never been out of 
the family.” 

“I don’t know,” mused the captain, with fur¬ 
rowed forehead. ‘ ‘ Seems to me I knew or heard 
of somebody by that name maybe twenty years 
ago—but it don’t matter,” waving his hand in a 
gesture of dismissal. ‘ 4 Come in, young man. ’ ’ 

The three crossed the portico and entered the 
broad, cool hall. 

“Hittie!” burst in stentorian tones from the 
captain’s deep chest. ‘ 4 Ho-o-o— Hittie! ’ ’ 

“Auntie is busy this time of the morning, 
father,” interrupted Dorothy, placing her hand 
on his arm. “I’ll call Judy to show Mr. Brent¬ 
ley to his room.” 

“Pray don’t go to that trouble,” broke in Saul. 
“I can tarry with you only till late afternoon, at 
the longest, and I shall rid myself of travel stains 
by using that wash-pan I see by the waterbucket 
on yonder side porch. Allow me, please!” 

This to his fair companion, for he knew that 
Captain Pembroke would not lightly transgress 
the rigid rules of hospitality. 

‘ ‘ If you prefer, ’ ’ she said, with a slight nod. 

Captain Pembroke gave a snort, whether of 
displeasure or assent Saul did not know, and led 
the way to the washstand on the porch. Here sat 



96 


A BLUEGRASS CAVALIER 


a cedar bucket with a wooden cover, and a capa¬ 
cious tin washpan. Against a post a gourd dip¬ 
per hung on a nail. Saul quailed the cool water 
thirstily, and bathed his head and face and arms 
with a sense of great relief. Then he rubbed dry 
with the home-made linen towel his host gave 
him, poured Dhu, who had come up sniffing, a 
generous drink in the pan, and followed the mas¬ 
ter back to the hall, and from thence into a com¬ 
bined sitting and bedroom on the left. 

Dorothy came in at once, followed by a feminine 
duplicate of the captain whom she introduced as 
1 ‘ her Aunt Mehitabel. ’ ’ Saul caught the fun imps 
dancing in the girl’s eyes as she said this, and 
knew she was thinking of their discussion of that 
name on the road, but he bowed right gallantly 
over the plump, purple hand held out to him, and 
murmured his pleasure at the introduction. Then 
as the three gathered about him, an eager, antici- 
pative group, it dawned clearly upon the young 
gentleman that he must give some reason for 
leaving home and that mysterious night journey 
down the river, the consequences of which had 
brought him to this moment. He could not tell 
the truth. Never, with this dainty Dorothy beam¬ 
ing expectantly upon him, could he say that a bar¬ 
maid with coarse black hair had been the cause 
of his temporary exile. For, alas! ' Saul’s con¬ 
ception of feminine loveliness had undergone a 
complete reversal within little more than twelve 
hours, and Jinsy’s gypsy charms seemed cheap 
and tawdry to him now. They were as ironstone 
china to Sevres; as a sunflower to a rose. 

4 ‘Now then, let’s hear your tale!” burst in Cap¬ 
tain Jonathan, bluffly, as Saul sat prodding his 
brain for the most proper lie. “How in mercy’s 
name did you chance to come by the river instead 
of overland, to begin with? And how is it you 



DIVERTING CONVERSATION 


97 


travel with a stick and a pack, like a foreign 
peddler f ” 

‘ 4 Brother! ’ ’ exclaimed Aunt Mehitabel, casting 
him a glance of reproach mingled with shame, and 
recrossing her hands on her broad lap. 

Dorothy tittered. 

“Just a lark, sir,” answered Saul, light com¬ 
ing in the nick of time. “There’s a roamish 
streak in our blood, and a hankering for untrod¬ 
den ways. It’s true dad’s chair-fast with gout, 
but he’s better, and the plantation’s in good 
hands. I wanted an adventure, and I took it— 
Dhu and I. ’ ’ 

He pointed toward the hall, where, through the 
open doorway, the big collie lay stretched, his 
head down, his eyes on his master. 

“A lovely creature,” purred Aunt Mehitabel, 
‘ ‘ and I’m sure as loyal as can be. ’ ’ 

“The tale, Mr. Brentley, if you please,” again 
interposed Captain Jonathan. . . . “All dogs 

are loyal, Hittie,” he continued, in an audible 
aside to his sister. “It’s their nature, and I 
wouldn’t suppose this one was an exception. . . 

Now, Mr. Brentley?” 

So Saul, with a quick look at Dorothy, who sat 
with her hand over her mouth and her eyes 
slanted at Aunt Mehitabel, began and told his 
tale. Apart from the initial lie, he told it with 
the utmost veracity, and the unbroken silence on 
the part of his auditors was a tribute to his nar¬ 
rative powers. When he had finished— 

“Mack Leek’s got her—the hound!” burst from 
Captain Jonathan, while Aunt Mehitabel gave a 
gasp and a murmur and smoothed her dress over 
her knees. 

“But Mr. Brentley’s going to find her!” broke 
in Dorothy, with child-like confidence. “He has 
promised!” 



98 


A BLUEGRASS CAVALIER 


Her father did not reply, but frowned straight 
in front of him and pulled gently at his grayish 
whiskers. 

44 How far away are these cliffs, sir?” asked 
Saul, presently. 

4 4 Nine or ten miles, and it’s a rough, wild coun¬ 
try. You’ve got a man’s job before you, young 
fellow. ’ ’ 

Aunt Mehitabel arose with the softly spoken 
excuse that she must see about the preparation 
of dinner, and left the room. Father, daughter 
and guest continued to discuss the all-important 
topic until the mid-day meal was announced. 
When this was over, Captain Jonathan departed 
horseback to keep an engagement at a neighbor¬ 
ing farm, while Saul and Dorothy, chaperoned by 
Dhu, wandered into the orchard at one side of the 
house. Here they strolled the greater part of the 
afternoon, Dorothy insisting time and again that. 
Saul should confide his plans to her, while he kept 
repeating that it was impossible to formulate 
plans in her company. Thereat they came near 
to having a miniature quarrel, Dorothy declaring 
that, as the rescue of Margot was of paramount 
importance, and as Saul could not think in her— 
Dorothy’s—presence, then he had better leave 
her; Saul refusing in turn to do any such thing. 
It was late afternoon before they came to an 
agreement. Saul would go and busy his mind 
about Margot, providing Dorothy would drive him 
to New. Market. So the patient Did plodded back 
to the little hamlet, while on the seat of the wagon 
behind him two young people continued the tactics 
begun that morning in the oldest game in the 
world. 

4 4 Make your plan to-night, Master Brentley,” 
admonished Dorothy, with lifted forefinger as, 



DIVERTING CONVERSATION 99 


the journey done at last, Saul stood by the wagon 
wheel. 

4 4 You shall have your friend back, sweet Dor¬ 
othy, ’ ’ answered the young man, and suddenly he 
took his cap off and bowed his head before her, 
holding it thus, as though half ashamed of his 
temerity. 

There was a movement from the seat, and 
something rested lightly upon his hair. 

4 4 My blessing go with you, Saul, and prayers 
for your success. Be careful, though—for me!” 

Then even as he strove with a glad cry to grasp 
the hand she had placed upon his head, she drew 
swiftly back, struck the astonished Did smartly 
with her whip, turned in a dangerously narrow 
cricle, and started home. She never looked back, 
though he watched her till she was over the hill. 
Then he sighed, much as any swain would have 
done under the circumstances, and with bent head 
and tight lips walked slowly down the road. 



VIII 


Conveying the reader to the inn of The Limping 
Dog, where he is presented to divers personalities, 
and bringing into the tale a gentleman from Phil¬ 
adelphia. 

Three miles from New Market, on the Cedarton 
road, was an old brick building which combined 
the utilities of post-house and tavern. How long 
it had stood there no one knew exactly, but its 
foundations were so sunken that it appeared as 
some huge and strange excrescence growing out 
of the earth, rather than as a house built upon it. 
A grass-grown yard of fair dimensions lay be¬ 
tween house and road, and this yard was bisected 
by a worn flagstone walk. An ancient hackberry 
tree grew near the southwestern corner of the 
house, some of its limbs overspreading the weath¬ 
er-stained roof. Depending from a rusty iron bar 
at the corner of a wall was a board, with some 
almost indistinguishable lines traced upon it. To 
the newcomer this sign meant nothing, but old 
residenters would stoutly aver that the Limping 
Dog was still plainly visible. For these had looked 
at the crude representation of a hound with one 
foreleg upheld which used to deck the board until, 
though rain and frost had all but effaced the 
figure, it yet dwelt within their minds in all its 
early beauty. 

The inn of the Limping Dog was kept by Manse 
and Moll Higbee, husband and wife. Manse was 
a weazened, little old man, loud-mouthed and trif- 
100 


A MAN FROM PHILADELPHIA 101 


ling. He wasted a vast amount of energy bustling 
about doing nothing, and labored under the delu¬ 
sion that his brain and his toil kept the business 
going. He was continually dashing here and there 
as though each second were the last at his dis¬ 
posal, and his thin, high voice could be heard all 
day long in vociferous address or colloquy. The 
only real work he was ever known to do was assist¬ 
ing the hostler to change horses. His main diet 
was rum-and-water; his dissipation, checker play¬ 
ing. 

Moll was the presiding genius of this “public’’ 
nestled at the foot of Johnson’s Hill, as the 
long rise in the road at this point was known. 
Low and broad was Moll, dish-faced and green- 
eyed—a truly terrible combination. But she smiled 
habitually, an expression doubtless acquired by 
many years’ truckling to trade, and she was quick 
and efficient. Something of a fighter, too, was this 
big-hipped landlady, for she had been known to 
knock a drunken wayfarer down with a billet for 
refusing to pay his bill, and her vocabulary, when 
angry, did not always embrace the terms employed 
in polite conversation. Her special province was 
the bar, where she served all thirsty comers 
deftly, throwing in a jest or quip by way of creat¬ 
ing good feeling, and mixing special drinks with 
a perfection born of careful practice. Nothing of 
a prude was Mistress Higbee, for she had grown 
used to the careless talk of men, and often, while 
pretending occupation among the mugs and casks, 
she would listen to the rough jokes bandied about 
the room, and turn her head to smile. But from 
this it must not be inferred that she was loose 
of morals, for of a truth she was not. Loyal to 
little Manse she was, although she would cuff him 
out of the way sometimes, much as she w^ould a 
dog or a cat. But laxity of speech was very com- 



102 


A BLUEGRASS CAVALIER 


mon in those days, and Moll wisely concluded it 
was better to smile than to frown, providing 
tongues did not grow actually vile. In that event, 
she would probably inform the offender that there 
was a pen of hogs in the barn lot, and that if he 
did not mend his manners he would do well to seek 
their company. 

There was no more popular place for rest and 
refreshment in all the countryside than the Limp¬ 
ing Dog. The traveling public made extra effort 
to reach it to pass the night, and it was a veritable 
haven for the neighborhood folk, who wanted a 
glass of something and a chat before bedtime. 

Early in the night of that day upon which Saul 
and Dorothy met, the customary habitues of the 
Limping Dog’s tap-room began to assemble. 
Darkness brought with it a penetrating chilliness, 
the season not being advanced far enough for the 
day’s warmth to linger after sunset, and in con¬ 
sequence a cheery fire of hickory was blazing in 
the broad chimney. Here swung a pot and crane, 
for there might come a call for hot drinks, and 
the water must be ready. 

On a rough settle at one side the huge fireplace 
sat a figure which seemed several decades behind 
the period. It wore a three cornered hat, and the 
hair, which was a grayish-white, was grown long, 
and plaited in the form of a queue of an earlier 
era. A stock, a red coat much worn and patched 
in places with different shades of the original 
color, knickerbockers, yarn stockings and buckle 
shoes completed the apparel. Rather rotund of 
body was this individual, smooth and ruddy of 
face, and he smoked a long-stemmed pipe with a 
small bowl. Although a regular caller at the tap- 
room, he had little to say, and that little was 
voiced only after liberal potions. But at intervals 
during the evening his voice would rise, addressed 



A MAN FROM PHILADELPHIA 103 


to no one in particular. “My name’s Ephri-ham 
Stout, and I’m a Ilenglishman. Long live the 
King!” When he had said this, he would wave 
his pipe in the air and relapse into bibulous revery 
or semi-coma. Whether he was English-born or 
not no one knew. He had drifted to the neighbor¬ 
hood the year following the close of the war of 
1812, with a pack on a stick. He had worked for 
hire a number of years, gradually acquired a little 
property and some live stock, then had built a 
two-room cabin. He had seemed a sober, working 
sort, but upon a night he had astounded those who 
foregathered at the Limping Dog by bursting into 
the room drunk as a lord, attired as a fox hunting 
English squire, and loudly and persistently de¬ 
clared his nationality to those assembled. Con¬ 
sternation and amazement reigned in the tap-room 
that night. Loyal Americans were they all, and 
the sight of a red coat, coupled to the sound of 
blustering words, placed the transformed laborer 
in momentary jeopardy. It was Uncle Jacky 
Bibb, the village patriarch, who saved the situa¬ 
tion. While the newcomer made an uncertain 
course for the bar, and the men began to mutter 
and shuffle their feet, Uncle Jacky rose up from 
his seat in the ingle, by the tallow lamp which 
was kept for his especial use, and thumping the 
floor in front of him with his crook-handled cane, 
shuffled up to the metamorphosed laborer. Then, 
bending forward with both hands clasped on his 
stick, he spat to one side, and asked in a dry, tiny 
voice: 

“Bain’t you Eph Stout?” 

He of the pompous air leaned on the bar and 
blinked, but did not reply. 

Uncle Jacky lifted a bent, shaking forefinger 
and tapped him on the chest. 

“I say, bain’t you Eph Stout?” 



104 A BLUEGRASS CAVALIER 


But strong waters held Stout’s brain, and he 
was not to be daunted. He drew himself up with 
uncertain dignity. 

“My name’s Ephri-ham Stout, and I’m a Heng- 
lishman. Long live the King!” 

Uncle Jacky turned and leered about with 
rheumy eyes. Then he cackled in the roof of his 
mouth. 

“You be plain Eph Stout, an’ a drunk lout, an’ 
you bain’t got no king! ’ ’ 

With that he cackled again, shriller than before, 
gazed triumphantly about him, and hobbled back 
to his chair amid the laughter of the crowd. 

Stout worked during the day, like his neighbors, 
but after nightfall he would don the garb in which 
we now find him, and hie to the rough oak settle 
to drink himself into a state of supreme disregard 
for his surroundings or his associates. 

Across from him, where the iron tallow lamp 
was stuck in a crack in the masonry of the chim¬ 
ney, was the throne of Uncle Jacky Bibb, autocrat 
and arbiter. This ancient person’s home was only 
a short distance down the road, where he dwelt 
in perpetual turmoil with a consort only a few 
years his junior. Between sunset and dark, as 
regular as the falling of that twilight, Uncle Jacky 
would betake himself to the Higbees, there to in¬ 
dulge mildly in a specially brewed liquor, smoke 
a little stone pipe holding about a thimbleful and 
a half, and settle disputes. A mite of a figure 
was Uncle Jacky, scarcely five feet from his soles 
to his bald crown, and his limbs and body had 
shrunk under his fourscore and fifteen years till 
his weight was little more than a healthy child 
of ten. At times he would indulge in a game of 
checkers, and it is so we find him this evening, 
vis-a-vis with Manse Higbee, a home-made board 
upon their joined knees whose darker squares 



A MAN FROM PHILADELPHIA 105 


had been carefully stained with juice from the 
pokeberry. 

Moll was back in the kitchen scolding a negro 
wench about the supper dishes. Her angry tones 
floated in to the men, but they paid no attention. 
Women’s tongues had clacked since Solomon’s 
day, and doubtless long before, and it was a wise 
man who heeded them not. 

“Yo’ve busted yo’ king line, Uncle Jacky!” 
piped Manse, twisting nervously in his seat and 
pulling the lobe of his right ear. 

“So I hev, son,” shrilled Uncle Jacky; “an’ 
d’rec’ly I’ll bust you!” 

“Ketch yo’ rabbit afore you skin ’im, says I,” 
retorted Manse,, and his knee gave a jerk. 

“Set still! An’ don’t try to shake my men out 
o ’ their spots! Play fa ’r, sonny. ’ ’ 

“I couldn’t he’p it. You know how I jake since 
the chills an’ ager got me. I ain’t tryin’ to 
cheat. ’ ’ 

Again his finger and thumb tweaked his ear¬ 
lobe, while his shoe-button eyes eagerly scanned 
the relative positions of the opposing forces. 

“You bain’t so bad, I ’low,” retorted Uncle 
Jacky, “but I were playin’ checkers when yo’ pa 
was a brat.” 

Then, with a series of hen-like clucks betokening 
satisfaction, he calmly jumped three of Manse’s 
men and landed on the king-line. 

“Cap that feller befo’ you furgit it,” he added. 

But the little innkeeper was fain to contest this 
move. It was too sweeping and demoralizing in 
its effect to be accepted meekly. 

“Hold on, Uncle Jacky! Hold on!” he cried, 
spreading his thin hands over the board as though 
about to deliver an incantation or work a spell. 
‘ 4 Do that over ag’in! Put them men back! ’ ’ 

But the old man’s fingers only closed the tighter 



106 


A BLUEGRASS CAVALIER 


over his captured pieces, and he wagged his head. 

“ ’Twere a’ hones’ jump, sonny, an’ I never 
gives np a took man. It’s yo’ move.” 

But losing a game of checkers meant loss of 
sleep to Manse, and he continued to protest. 

“One ’s here—an’ one ’s here-” 

The tips of two seamed, dirt-grained fingers 
rested spraddling upon the board. 

“An’ t’other ’n,” gibed Uncle Jacky, “whur ’s 
it?” 

“You couldn’t ’a’ done it!’ affirmed Manse, 
doggedly, wriggling in his chair. “I watches my 
men, an I ain’t been jumped three times since 
I growed whiskers! ’ ’ 

The old fellow chuckled gleefully. 

“I said cap that feller, sonny. Mebbe in an¬ 
other forty year you can learn to play. ’ ’ 

Manse scratched his head and studied the board. 

The door opened and two men came in, bringing 
with them a sharp gust of cool air. None of the 
inmates of the room paid any heed whatever to 
the arrivals, who sauntered to the bar, talking 
cattle. Presently the shorter of the two rapped 
with his knuckles and voiced his thirst. Manse, 
striving to convince himself that he had been 
cheated, heard but did not get up. The man who 
wanted to be served rapped louder, and bellowed 
good-naturedly: 

i 1 D ’you want me to go ’round an ’ help myseff ? ’ ’ 

His tones must have carried to the kitchen, for 
in dashed Moll with a clatter of stiff-soled shoes. 
Apprehending the situation the moment she en¬ 
tered the door, she thrust at her spouse’s head 
as she hurried past—a blow which he ducked and 
avoided—and bustled back among the kegs and 
mugs and bottles. 

“A triflin’ man is a sore trial,” she averred, 
drying her red, beefy hands on her apron. “Now 




A MAN FROM PHILADELPHIA 107 


what shall it be, gentlemen? Ale, rum, whisky? 
Ah, Mr. Pottle”—to the shorter and older of her 
customers—-“I know your weakness for ale. An’ 
you, Mr. Sammy; what will you be havin’ this 
chilly evenin’? A sip o’ stout, or some o’ my 
own grape wine, six year in the cellar?” 

The men gave their orders, and just then the 
door was quickly opened and shut, and with a 
suddenness of a Jack-in-the-box a long, lank figure 
appeared in the room. He executed a jigging 
step, half pirouette and half shuffle, paused with 
the sole of his right foot resting fiat against his 
left ankle, bowed with his hand on his thin chest, 
and spoke solemnly and sonorously: 

“0 1 am a saddler and preacher in one, 

I mend broken harness and deeply I think; 

I study the Word like a son-of-a-gun, 

For there I get license to swill a good drink. ’ ’ 

This unique piece of doggerel from the startling 
apparition produced no effect whatever upon any 
who heard it. The Henglishman silently and sol¬ 
emnly raised the quart measure which rested by 
his side and quaffed from its contents; the game 
of draughts continued in abeyance; and Moll went 
on attending her customers, who had not even 
turned. 

The figure in the door stared about for a mo¬ 
ment with eyes which were strained and bleared. 
The mark of drink lay heavy on him. Back of the 
mask which a bibulous nature had placed upon his 
features was a certain nobility of expression, 
blurred and almost hidden though it was. It 
showed in his high, good forehead, well chiseled 
nose, and even in his sodden gaze. A sense of 
humor must have been inherent, for a tricksy smile 
hovered about his mouth, whose sensitive outlines 



108 A BLUEGRASS CAVALIER 


had never been supplanted by loose-lipped de¬ 
pravity. He spoke again, standing easily now, 
finger around his chin, elbow in palm. 

“We read in Genesis that Noey planted a vine¬ 
yard. ’ ’ 

Soft and full the words came, and they bore 
a quality of sweetness oddly at variance with the 
man’s outcast condition. 

“Did he plant this vineyard for shade, gentle¬ 
men, or to give employment to Shem, Ham and 
Japhet, lest perchance they get into mischief? 
I trow not. In fact, the text is very explicit as 
to why he planted it. It was to raise grapes, that 
he might make wine, that he might get drunk. 
Now my name too is Noey—Noey Mole, as you all 
know. I plant no vineyard, but like my illustrious 
forebear, I get drunk. Mistress Moll, a bumper 
of your best. ’ ’ 

Concluding this brief and astounding harangue, 
the vagrant tripped forward and twirled a coin 
upon the bar. 

“Ale, is it, Big Sam Pottle?” he cried, cheerily, 
clapping the shorter and older of the men on the 
shoulder. “And same for you, Little Sam Pot¬ 
tle?” turning to grasp the arm of the taller and 
younger man. “Drink hearty! It’s all good for 
the body and it can’t touch the soul, for that’s 
immortal. Ha! Ha! 1 A certain rich husbandman 
planted him a vineyard and went into a far coun¬ 
try.’ It runs all through the Word, gentlemen. 
They loved it of old time, and we love it now, 
and others will love it when we are dust. Ah! 
Mistress Moll, thanks! The first health’s to 
you! ’ ’ 

Baring his head, Noey Mole bowed deeply, then 
standing erect, drank gallantly to the big-hipped, 
dish-faced woman as though she had been a Venus. 




A MAN FROM PHILADELPHIA 109 


Then, moving agilely and lightly, he went and 
squatted on his heels by the checker players. 

The Pottles, father and son, began their second 
mug. For miles thereabout they were known as 
Big Sam Pottle and Little Sam Pottle. The queer 
part of it was that Little Sam was larger than 
Big Sam. But the name by which the son had 
been called in infancy and childhood stuck to him 
as he grew, until, when he could almost chin his 
sire, he was still Little Sam Pottle, and would 
likely remain so all his life, for the folk of that 
day and time were not given to change. A short 
way up the Cedarton road from the public the 
grazing lands of the Pottles began, for they were 
well-to-do traders and drovers, albeit of scanty 
education, and plain as the soil they trod. Many 
acres of beautiful rolling ground were theirs, and 
in the spreading fields and pastures were cattle 
and horses which were numbered by the hundred. 
Almost every evening, when the day’s work was 
ended, the pair would ride down to the Higbee’s 
to chat, listen to any chance news, and take a 
swallow of something. Good men and true were 
these sturdy husbandmen, Big Sam standing six 
feet and Little Sam six feet four. Broad-faced 
and mild-mannered, somewhat slow of speech, but 
honest to the core and fair in their dealings. 

Moll, seeing that her customers were taking 
their time with the second mug, slipped out of the 
room. When she was gone- 

“There’s a hoss missin’ out o’ Sinkhole Field,” 
said Little Sam, slowly, shoving nearer his father. 

“Maybe you overlooked ’im,” returned Big 
Sam, but his thick brows went together. 

The other shook his head. 

“I counted ’em twice. It’s the bay with the 
white stockin’s.” 

“Mebbe he’s fell in,” suggested the older 



110 


A BLUEGRASS CAVALIER 


man, but the look of concern on the rugged face 
deepened. “I’ve been ’tendin’ to fill up that 
hole.” 

“He never fell in, ’cause I looked to see. None 
o ’ that bunch are jumpin ’ hosses. He’s gone. ’ ’ 

Big Sam remained silent, frowning at his mug. 

“He’s stole, pap.” 

“Has there been any traders ’bout lately, that 
you know of?” 

“No, but there’s somebody always about who’d 
like to have that bav. He’s easy wuth two hun¬ 
dred.” 

Big Sam shifted, and looked around over his 
shoulder. Manse had given up the disputed game 
at last and had persuaded Uncle Jacky to start 
another, while Ephraim Stout sat wuth half-closed 
eyes staring at the fire. 

“He’s never bothered us before.” 

“I’ll bet you a heifer he’s got that white stock¬ 
in’ bay. This county’ll be better off when it’s shet 
o’ Mack Leek.” 

“Whut you goin’ to do?” 

“Look about to-morrer. There’ll be tracks, I 
reck’n. I don’t ’tend to be robbed without puttin’ 
up a fight. . . . Howdy, Mordy. ’ ’ 

As he was speaking the door had been gently 
opened, and the skins-and-leather man stepped 
noiselessly in, followed by his four-footed com¬ 
panion. Obedient to a gesture from his master, 
the bear slunk over to the nearest corner and sat 
down, and Mordecai Fode came forward and 
shook hands with the two men. 

“Putty fur from home, ain’t you, Mordy?” 
asked Big Sam, heartily. “Whut you doin’ slip- 
pin’ roun’ up here at Higbee’s this time o’ night? 
Have a little somethin’ to knock the chill off?” 

The philosopher shook his head and smiled. 

“No journey is too long when undertaken in the 



A MAN FROM PHILADELPHIA 111 


interest of justice and mercy. I came to ask if 
there be any news of the missing maiden. ’ ’ 

44 None that I’ve heard,” returned Big Sam, 
“an’ you may be sure the word would’ve spread 
like wildfire if anybody’d found out anything. 
This carryin’ off o’ that gal’s a bad business, an’ 
somebody ought ’o suffer hard. ’ ’ 

“Somebody will suffer hard before all’s done,” 
declared Little Sam, thrusting his hands in his 
pockets and leaning his back against the bar. 
“You’d think there wasn’t no law this side o’ 
Frankfort. ’ ’ 

He dropped his chin and frowned at the floor. 

“Has no one any notion who the culprit might 
be?” asked Mordecai Fode, with the simplicity 
and earnestness of a child. “I live apart and 
alone, and do not hear the talk. I stopped for a 
minute in New Market to ask Cadwallader Hull, 
but he waved me off and said he couldn’t afford 
to talk. I didn’t understand him.” 

The skins-and-leather man turned from one to 
the other perplexedly. 

“Hull’s thinkin’ of his livin’ as well as his 
hide,” retorted Big Sam; “but there’s no use 
callin’ names till somethin’ is proved. I favor 
askin’ the Governor to take a hand in this kid- 
nappin’ business. It’s a crime ag’in the State.” 

“It’s somethin’ we men ought ’o handle,” broke 
in Little Sam. “We ain’t done enough. The gal’s 
hid somewheres nigh, an’ ever’body ought ’o 
knock off work till she’s found.” 

Three blasts from a bugle, the first two short 
and the last long and clear, came drifting faintly 
but plainly into the room. 

“It’s Deef Dick,” said Big Sam, leisurely pull¬ 
ing a huge silver watch from his waistcoat pocket. 
4 4 He’s half a ’ hour late. ’ ’ 

The blasts came again, a little more distinct. 



112 


A BLUEGRASS CAVALIER 


This time all present heard the clarion-like sound. 
Manse caked his head, then jumped to his feet 
with such alacrity that board and checkers fell 
to the floor. Grabbing a candle-lantern from a 
peg on the wall, he lighted it with a splinter from 
a billet and rushed outside, calling his stable-boy 
at every jump. The man on the settle, who had 
been half aslep, jerked his sagging head backward 
with the action of one suddenly aroused, gasped 
and blinked, then cried loudly: 

“My name is Ephri-ham Stout, and I’m a Heng- 
lishman. Long ljye the King!” 

He waved his pipe, and picking up the quart 
measure drank from it, then set it down and 
closed his heavy eyes. Whereupon Noey Mole, 
with many gestures and grimaces, arose upon his 
toes, circled around the room to the back of the 
settle, and audaciously helped himself from Mr. 
Stout’s private cup. The two drovers chuckled 
lazily at this antic, while Uncle Jacky Bibb arose 
to his feet with the assistance of his cane on one 
hand and the rocks of the fireplace on the other, 
muttering wrathfully all the while because of his 
opponent’s abrupt departure. 

Now came the shouting of a semi-ribald song 
without, which was presently drowned in the clat¬ 
ter of hoofs and grind of wheels as the stage 
coach swept down the last incline of Johnson’s 
Hill, to halt with a whining of brakes in front of 
the inn. There were shouts, some laughter, 
the sound of moving feet and jingling traces, 
for this was a post-house where horses were 
changed. 

“Wonder if Dick’s fetched anybody for the 
Limpin’ Dog this trip?” idly inquired Big Sam 
of his offspring. 

“Travel’s a bit slow this time o’ the year,” 



A MAN FROM PHILADELPHIA 113 


answered Little Sam, “but ’pears to me I hear 
a strange voice out there.” 

He had scarcely spoken when Manse appeared, 
his hands full of luggage and his tongue going. 
Behind him came two others. One was Deef Dick, 
a trunk balanced on his shoulder, and the other 
was a slender, dark young man wearing a light 
cloak of rich material. Manse deposited his lug¬ 
gage and dashed into the rear hall crying for 
Moll, while the stage driver eased the trunk onto 
the iioor and waddled to the bar. He was a sturdy 
fellow of uncertain age, with brown and wrinkled 
face and searching eyes—the eyes of one who 
finds it difficult to hear. The stranger bowed 
slightly to the Pottles, gave an almost impercept¬ 
ible shrug, then strode to the fireplace and held 
his hands to the blaze. Wonderfully white and 
slender were these hands, and something blue and 
green and white sparkled upon the finger of one. 
As he stood there the faint odor of patchouli be¬ 
gan to diffuse itself through the smoke-hung 
room. 

Little Sam turned to Big Sam with his right 
nostril twisted and the corner of his mouth awry. 

4 ‘ ’Bout bedtime, pap ? ” he asked, significantly. 

‘ ‘ Time we git home, ’ ’ agreed Big Sam, and each 
giving a parting glance at the silent figure before 
the fire, they passed out. 

Uncle Jacky Bibb had been standing with 
dropped lower lip, staring at the newcomer. The 
sound of the door closing as the Pottles withdrew 
seemed to rouse him. 

i ‘ Stranger, bain’t you ? ” he inquired, his voice 
cutting the silence shrilly. 

The young man turned, revealing a face almost 
pallid in whiteness, in which shone large, black, 
liquid eyes. He nodded gravely, though some¬ 
thing like a smile flitted across his lips. 



114 A BLUEGRASS CAVALIER 


“Be you tarryin’ a while!” pursued his in¬ 
quisitor. 

“A while—yes,” replied the stranger, with a 
slightly foreign accent. 

Uncle Jacky stretched out his hand and picked 
up a worn and faded dolman from the back of the 
chair he had recently quitted. 

“He’p me on wi’ this, young man. I be gittin’ 
a trifle old,” he said. 

Courteously and gently the newcomer fitted the 
garment over the stooped and narrow shoulders. 

“I must be goin’ now, or the rheumatics ’ll lay 
hold on me,” confided Uncle Jacky. “Thanky, 
young man. An’ be you tarryin’, I’ll see you 
ag’in.” 

The thump of his cane and the slither of his 
feet followed, and as he disappeared round-faced 
Moll bustled in and dropped a curtsy, while 
Manse, trailing her, slid behind the bar to minister 
to the needs of Deef Dick. 

“Room an’ bed an’ a bite is it, sir!” queried 
Mistress Higbee, smoothing her sleek hair with 
both palms. 

“If you please, madame,” with an inclination 
of the head. “But first may I inquire if I am 
not near the home of one Captain Pembroke!” 

“He lives just t’other side o’ New Market—a 
matter o’ four mile. But the stage don’t pass his 
house,” she added, hurriedly, foreseeing an im¬ 
mediate departure. 

“I shall remain here to-night, and probably for 
and definite time. There is no news of—of the 
lost girl, Margot LaTour!” 

The stranger leaned forward with the question, 
his face grave and his eyes pained. 

“No. It is said they wait for money. . . . 

Poor girl!” 



A MAN FROM PHILADELPHIA 115 


The young man drew back, and a quiver rippled 
over his lithe form. 

“I will go to my room, madame, if you please,’’ 
he said. Then, as an afterthought: “My name 
is Gaston Chavannes, of Philadelphia.” 



IX 


Advancing the story to a time when honest folk 
are abed. 

Manse jerked a thumb in the direction of the 
vanished figure, and leered interrogatively into 
the weather-bitten face across from him. But 
Jehu was more inclined to drink than talk. He 
shoved the capacious mug he was using back to 
be refilled, and wiped the moisture from his sandy, 
straggling mustache. Mine host obligingly 
brimmed the bumper afresh, his whole form twist¬ 
ing with unsatisfied curiosity the while. He again 
essayed by signs to elicit some information. It 
certainly was bad luck that Dick Turber was hard 
of hearing. The second draught must have mel¬ 
lowed him, however, for, holding the nearly empty 
mug poised he said, in the piercing tones peculiar 
to some who cannot hear: 

“Got abode at Lexin’ton, an’ said he wanted 
to go to the Limpin’ Dawg Inn.” 

Manse grinned, scuttled around the corner of 
the bar, and drew up at Dick’s side with his mouth* 
lifted to the other ’s ear and his hands trumpeted. 

“He’s a furriner, ain’t he, Dicky?” 

“Said his name were She-Vonn. A qu’er name 
fur a man, an’ outlandish’s hell,” calmly opined 
Mr. Turber. “He must be furrin. He’s too 
white.” He threw his head back and guzzled 
the remaining drops of the precious liquid. 

Manse danced to the other side of the stage 
driver, remembering suddenly that Dick was 
deafer in one ear than he was in the other, but 
116 


ADVANCING THE STORY 


117 


failing to recall which ear was which. Again he 
approached his mouth, shielded by his cupped 
hands, and shouted: 

“Whut mought be his business, Dicky? Did 
he say?” 

Then, forgetting in his excitement that his own 
auditory nerves were all right, he inclined his 
head attentively. 

The liquor had begun to warm up Mr. Turber. 

“He rode inside mos’ o’ the way, but he clum’ 
up by me at Cedarton an’ axed some questions.” 

Manse nodded encouragement, and maintained 
his expectant attitude. 

“He axed a few questions, I say,” repeated 
Deef Dick, reaching for his tobacco. 

“Exactly,” approved Manse, nodding his head 
vigorously. “A furriner by the name o’ She- 
Vonn, an’ he wanted to know-” 

“ ’Bout the people hereaway, an’ mainly an’ 
perticerlily ’bout the gal what’s stole out o’ my 
coach. ’ ’ 

“Interested in the gal, was he?” piped the little 
innkeeper. “Her sweetheart, Dicky; trust me to 
know that. She’s from Philadelphy, too. Now 
the fur’ll fly; you’ll see!” 

“ He axed me ever’thing ’bout the gang whut 
hel’ me up, an’ got tur’bly excited. Wanted to 
know whut’d been done, an’ if anybody had any 
idee who done it. I toP ’im folks had plenty o’ 
idees, but ’s ’fraid to speak ’em.” 

“Then whut’d he do, Dicky? ’Member me an’ 
you’s been frien’s fur many a year. Whut’d he 
say then, Dicky?” 

Mr. Turber rolled a crafty eye toward the other 
end of the room. The fire had died down till only 
a few blue-green flames clung about the charred 
logs. Mr. Stout was asleep, breathing stertorously 
with his thick chin sunk in his stock, while Morde- 



118 


A BLUEGRASS CAVALIER 


cai Fode, seated in a chair, was occupied in plait¬ 
ing some leather thongs. Noey Mole was standing 
in front of a grandfather’s clock, scrutinizing the 
dial intently. Slowly the stage driver turned his 
back upon these three, and putting his hand in his 
pocket, drew it forth a fist. This fist he quietly 
thrust under his friend’s nose, and unclasped. A 
large gold piece lay in his palm. 

“Whut! Whut!” Manse began to stutter, but 
Dick raised his other hand warningly. 

“I toP ’im my idee fur that!” he said, triumph¬ 
antly, “an’ the contrac’ was he’s not to say a 
word. There wasn’t much more talk in ’im after 
that. He got pow’ful glum.” 

Mr. Higbee scratched his head, and pulled his 
ear, and fidgeted. 

‘ 4 Damn it, Dicky! ” he blurted out; ‘ 6 1 ’ve got a 
idee too! Reck’n he’ll buy mine? ... A 
double eagle! ” he added, under his breath. 

“You want ’o go mighty slow, not git me in 
trouble,” warned the wily Turber, beginning to 
button his coat. The change of horses had been 
made, and it was time to resume his journey. The 
fact was brought to mind by the appearance of 
the ostler, represented mainly by a shock of hair, 
who had thrust his head in the room and bawled: 

“High an’ low; 

Time to go!” 

which rhyme was of his own invention, and in 
which he took much pride. The seven-foot clock 
which stood to the left of the high mantle whirred, 
and began to strike nine. The innkeeper drew near 
for a final query, but just then Moll’s clattering 
footsteps sounded within, immediately followed by 
her presence. 

< < The gentleman wants ’is luggage, Manse Hig- 



ADVANCING THE STORY 


119 


bee!” she flared out, “an’ who’s goin’ to take it 
to ’im? Am I to cut wood an’ draw water as well 
as cook an’ sweep an’ men’ an’ make! Take them 
han’ things fust, an’ be keerful you don’t drop 
’em. Fine gentleman has fine things, an’ it might 
be there’s breakables in ’em. An’ you be not man 
enough to handle the trunk yo’seff, call Joe-boy 
to he ’p you! I tell you this house ain’t seen the 
likes of him upstairs this many a day % Pretty as 
a gal he is, an’ manners of a lady. With 4 Thank 
you, ma’am, an’ ‘If you please, ma’m,’ an’ ‘Don’t 
go to no trouble, ma’m.’ Step sharp, man; the 
gentleman’s waitin ’! ” 

Her shrill voice penetrated to the stupefied 
brain of Ephraim Stout, and as Manse seized a 
bag in either hand and began a rearward retreat, 
while Deef Dick sought his waiting horses, Red¬ 
coat slowly straightened up, blinked laboredly a 
time or two, and said: 

“You should git a gal to ten’ bar, Moll; a young 
gal, an’ purty!” 

“I serves in my own house, Mr. Stout, I thank 
ye!” retorted Mistress Higbee, with an upward 
toss of her chin. 

The Henglishman got to his feet, tittering sillily. 

“I dreamed there were a gal tendin’ bar—a 
purty gal,” he continued, his tongue working im¬ 
perfectly. “ An ’ when she brought my ale I kissed 
’er (te-he!) an’ she kissed me back (te-he!). So 
when I wakes up I says you should have a gal 
(te-he-he!) ” 

“It’s home you’re needin’ right now, an’ a bed 
to sleep on,” answered Moll, hands on protruding 
hips and fire in her green eyes; “an’ not a gal to 
kiss! Be off with you now! We’re shettin’ up.” 

Ephraim jammed his three-cornered hat further 
down upon his head and started for the door on 
unsteady legs. And as he went his face expressed 



120 


A BLUEGRASS CAVALIER 


the thoughts in his mind, for his heavy lips 
drooled slaver, and twitched, and he shook his 
jowls and muttered: “A purty gal—a young gal 
—a gal you can hug an ’ kiss! ’ ’ Then, with a loud 
smack from his eager lips, he lurched out. 

“What’s the matter with Eph? Never knew 
him to talk so much.’ ’ 

Noey Mole vaulted over the settle as he spoke, 
and peered eagerly into the tin measure which 
still sat there. It was empty. 

4 ‘ He’s a wastrel an ’ a oaf! ’’ sniffed Moll. ‘ ‘ An 9 
he comes any more fool chat aroun’ me he’ll git 
’is years boxed!” 

She stalked across the room to close the door 
which the object of her displeasure had of course 
left open, but even as her hand went out she 
stopped, then slowly began to step backward. The 
bear, which had been sitting quiescent, shifted 
uneasily and growled low. 

A young man appeared in the doorway. His 
head almost touched the lintel, and his figure 
bulked large in the opening. A monstrous collie 
dog pushed forward to his side—to stop with 
bared fangs and the quick rising of a yellow ruff. 
Saul’s hand fell to the stiffened neck. 

‘ ‘ Be quiet, laddie! ” he ordered. Then, advanc¬ 
ing a few steps, he bowed, and said: 

“My name is Saul Brentley, and may I lodge 
here to-night, mistress? I have been told your 
hostelry is the best for miles around—why, here’s 
Mordecai Fode!” For that individual had arisen 
and come forward. 

Mistress Higbee curtseyed and bobbed, and de¬ 
clared it would be a pleasure for her to receive 
the young gentleman. But in the meantime thp 
skins-and-leather man had Saul by the hand, and 
was speaking in mildly excited tones for one of 
his placid temperament. 



ADVANCING THE STORY 


121 


“We meet again, young sir. Not at Cadwal- 
lader Hull’s, as I had supposed, but here. I 
looked in on Master Hull as I came by, and he 
said that you’d had a cup with him, and knew 
him on sight, at which he took much delight.” 

“He was very proud at being known,” ac¬ 
quiesced Saul. “He seems a jolly fellow.” 

“Aye, a merry man. . . . But why not 

come with me this night? Remember your prom¬ 
ise on the road this morning. I am journeying 
to Beechum’s Woods at once.” 

“Be off, Mordy, an’ let the gentleman be!” 
burst in Moll, who was ever keen for business 
which would add a little silver to her hoard. 
“Who would traipse a matter o’ five mile this 
night, in comp’ny with a varmint of a bear to 
boot, when he might rest in a good feather bed 
with a sheet over ’im?” 

Saul smiled from one to the other, and squeez¬ 
ing the bony hand he held, answered: 

“Many thanks for your kind offer, dear sir, 
but I suspect the lady is right, insofar as the walk 
is concerned. I have already traveled many a mile 
last night and to-day, and I’m a little tired to¬ 
night. ’ ’ 

“ ’Tis not so far,” protested the philosopher. 
“I know a short cut which will bring us home 
much sooner.” 

“Out with ye, Mordy!” repeated Moll, gently 
pushing his shoulder. “The gentleman says he 
wants to rest, an’ there’s no rest on the road.” 

“I’ll try and come soon, though,” answered 
Brentley. “Maybe to-morrow. I don’t think your 
bear and my dog w^ould travel together peacefully 
to-night, and my legs are sore from walking.” 

“I would not urge you against your will,” re¬ 
plied Mordecai Fode, drawing back in gentle dig¬ 
nity. “No doubt you are worn and need sleep. 



122 


A BLUEGRASS CAVALIER 


I dwell in Beechum’s Woods—don’t forget that. 
Anybody can tell you where they are. I wish you 
a pleasant night.” 

He walked with silent steps to Paddyfoot, and 
Saul, with a single whistle, brought Dhu bounding 
to his side. The bear shuffled out into the night, 
but at the door his master turned, bowed low with 
his cap in his hand, then followed his strange pet. 

‘‘I met him this morning on the river road,” 
explained Saul, “and he seemed to take a fancy 
to me . 9 9 

“A harmless soul,” commented Moll, “but a 
little daffy. No nateral human’d live with a beast 
for comp’ny. . . . An’your belongin’s, sir?” 

4 4 Are on this stick, ’ ’ with a whimsical grimace. 
“I tramp—not because I must—but because I 
please.” 

“La! I can see quality with half a’ eye!” said 
Moll, laughing deep in her throat, spreading her 
hands with a flaring gesture. “Many come here 
for bread an’ bed. To some I say: 4 Pay now, 
or pack yo ’self off! ’; to the gentry I say: ‘ Tarry 
an’ welcome, an’ pay when you will.’ Now would 
you have a bite, or a mug o’ somethin’, before 
you go to your room?” 

“Neither, thank you. I have both supped and 
eaten, and wish for nothing but a place to lay my 
weary bones.” 

Little Manse came dashing in, and stooping, 
laid hands on the brass-bound trunk which sturdy 
Dick Turber had carried from the road so easily. 
But Manse could no more than lift one end from 
the floor, and this presently slipped from his grasp 
and fell with a resounding thump. 

“Call Joe-boy to he’p you!” ordered his con¬ 
sort, sharply. Then, sweetly—“This way, young 
gentleman. ’ ’ 



ADVANCING THE STORY 


123 


44 Joe-boy’s ’sleep, an’ you can’t wake ’im up 
after the stage leaves! ’ ’ shrilled Manse. 

4 4 What is it ? ” interposed Saul, stopping. 4 4 Do 
you want the trunk moved somewhere ? ’ ’ 

44 Yes, but don’t you stoop to it,” answerel Moll. 
44 Here, Noey Mole; an’ you loaf ’roun’ here you 
mus’ make yo’seff o’ use. Come, lend a han’.” 

The preacher wiggled his toes as he perched on 
the settle with outstretched legs, and grinned 
slily. 

44 I’ve a rupture, mistress, and dare lift noth¬ 
ing,” he lied, cheerily. 

44 I’ll be glad to help,” Saul spoke again, cast¬ 
ing a quick glance of recognition at the nonde¬ 
script figure, and identifying it with the one he 
had seen that morning snoring in a chair at the 
Leaning Stump. 44 But first let’s take care of my 
dog. ’ ’ 

44 Turn ’im outside, or there’s the stable-” 

But Brentley shook his head. 

44 If you don’t mind, may he stay with me? I’ll 
pay for him the same as myself. I shouldn’t care 
for him to be out all night.” 

44 An’ to be sure he may!” assented Mistress 
Higbee. 4 4 Clean as a person he seems. The 
trunk, sir, belongs to another young man that 
Deef Dick fetched in to-night. From Philadelphy, 
he said, but ’is name I can’t give you, ’cause it’s 
furrin an’ has a heathen soun’—the gentleman’s 
waitin ’, Manse! Where’s your eyes ? ’ ’ 

For Saul had bent to hide the look of surprise 
which sprang to his face when he heard the 
stranger was from Philadelphia. 

44 Up with her, mine host!” he cried, genially, 
and a moment after they were following Moll, who 
bore a lighted candle, Manse groaning and stag¬ 
gering, and Saul conscious of a keen curiosity to 
look upon the man with the furrin name. 




124 


A BLUEGRASS CAVALIER 


They entered a passage connecting evidently 
with the culinary department, for the odor of 
kitchen was heavy in the air, and then began the 
ascent of a dim, broad stairway with a heavy 
balustrade. As they reached the upper hall Moll 
stopped in front of a door partly ajar, and rapped. 
There came a prompt response, and the three 
entered, followed by the dog. Barely across the 
threshold Manse gave down and abruptly eased 
his end of the burden to the floor. Then he re¬ 
treated, rubbing his numbed fingers and mutter¬ 
ing. Moll volubly inquired after the comfort of 
her guest while Brentley dragged the trunk to a 
spot near the bed, on the edge of which sat a 
striking looking man in his shirt sleeves. Saul 
greeted him with an inclination of the head, and 
during the few questions and answers which 
now passed, observed him closely. 

The stranger was slender and elegant in ap¬ 
pearance. His white shirt seemed to be of silk, 
and his trousers of some rich cloth. He had re¬ 
moved his hat, and his face showed thin, with 
clear-cut, regular features. Mobile, too, they 
were, and subtly responsive, as evidenced by the 
varying expressions which came with the land¬ 
lady’s solicitude for his comfort. Brentley’s nos¬ 
trils detected the presence of perfume, and he was 
instantly aware of a certain displeasure. It sug¬ 
gested effeminacy to his mind, a bit out of place 
when connected with a man. The figure on the 
bed waved his arm with a smile—a smile so cap¬ 
tivating that Saul wondered. 

“There is nothing I need, madame, I assure 
you.” Then, rising, he inclined his body grace¬ 
fully toward Saul. “I thank you, sir, for assist¬ 
ing with my luggage. Had I known there was any 
difficulty in getting it to me, I would have come 
myself . 9 9 



ADVANCING THE STOEY 


125 


His voice was sweet and mellow, and his glance 
winning. 

Before Saul could reply, Dliu, standing at his 
knee, walked sedately forward and lifted his muz¬ 
zle to the speaker, inviting attention. The man 
patted the shining white head, and Dhu waved his 
plumy tail. 

“It was little to do, and I beg you not to men¬ 
tion it,” said Brentley. He went to the door, 
whither Moll had preceded him, then turned. 

“You are the first stranger my dog ever made 
overtures to,” he said. 

“Let us hope his sagacity is not at fault,” re¬ 
plied the other, and smiled again. 

The room into which our hero and his dog were 
ushered adjoined the one he had just left, and 
appeared to be at the southwestern corner of the 
building. The floor was bare, the walls plastered, 
and the furniture consisted of two shuck-bottomed 
chairs, an old chest, and a massive four-post bed. 
Moll placed her candle upon the chest, which held 
a basin and a pitcher of water. 

“You’ll find your bed sweet an’ clean, sir,” she 
said, “an’ I hope you ’ll sleep well.” 

“No fear of that, good lady,” replied Saul, 
dumping his bundles on the floor. 16 1 could sleep 
standing up, with something to lean against.” 

As Moll withdrew Brentley walked to the win¬ 
dow and raised the sash, placing under it a stick 
which he found convenient. The room felt stuffy. 
He paused for a moment to look out. Though 
the moon was up, nothing could be seen because 
of the enveloping shade except the large bole of 
a tree rising not many feet away, and a limb 
springing from its trunk which he could have 
reached had he wished. As he turned he heard a 
dry snap, as of a piece of wood breaking under 
a foot. But this was too common and natural 



126 A BLUEGRASS CAVALIER 


a sound to arouse concern, and presently he was 
getting out of his clothes, talking to Dhu as he 
undressed. 

“Be careful not to walk in your sleep, my 
Scotchman, and tumble out of that window. But 
I’ve a notion each of us will lie like logs. It’s 
been a busy day, lad; a full day, and night finds 
your master on the borderland of love, if one can 
put faith in feeling. Did you ever see such living 
perfection, Roddy! Fickle, you say! Ah, my 
boy; not fickle, hut mistaken. I thought I loved 
Jinsy; I was entirely honest. Promise! Gad! 
I’d forgotten that! And she’s a girl who ’d hold 
a fellow to his pledge. ’ ’ He stopped for a moment 
and frowned before him. “Lie down, Dhu, and 
go to sleep, ” he added, with a sigh. Then, mur¬ 
muring “Dorothy, Dorothy/’ over and over like 
one suddenly bereft of reason, he blew out his 
candle and went to bed. 

He did not remain awake long, and accompany¬ 
ing the train of roseate visions which crowded one 
upon the other through his brain was the steady, 
ceaseless sound of soft footsteps in the next room. 
Plainly his neighbor’s mind was far more dis¬ 
turbed" than his own. Very soon, the memory of 
Dorothy’s smile bringing one to his own lips, 
Saul slept. 



X 


Describing a stealthy attach in the night hours , 
and showing how the gentleman from Philadel¬ 
phia and our hero joined hands in a certain quest . 

After leaving the tap-room of the Limping Dog, 
Mordecai Fode and Paddyfoot took the highroad 
for New Market. The stage had already rattled 
away on its journey toward Nashville, and the 
night was very calm and without noise. Side by 
side the incongruous pair plodded through the 
dust, the man now and again addressing some 
remark to the great, shaggy beast. They had 
proceeded perhaps a mile, and were passing a 
thick copse which bordered the road, when the 
bear stopped abruptly, and throwing up his muz¬ 
zle, sniffed. Mordecai buried one hand in the 
thick, rough fur of the animal’s neck, and bent to 
listen. At first he heard nothing but the almost 
inaudible susurration of the leaves, but directly 
another sound reached his ears, so faint as to be 
barely perceptible. At once he moved toward the 
copse, and presently man and beast had merged 
with the shadows. 

The long grasses which their passage set to 
waving had not ceased to vibrate before two horse¬ 
men went by. A cloud was before the moon, but 
Mordecai, crouching twelve feet away, knew the 
near rider to be Mack Leek. The horses’ hoofs 
were muffled, and thudded dully on the road. They 
passed at a slow canter, without a word. 

“The other was Jews-harp George, the ferry¬ 
man, I ’ll warrant,’ 9 mused Mordecai, as the twain 
127 


128 A BLUEGRASS CAVALIER 


came forth to resume their journey. “Some dev¬ 
iltry’s afoot. No honest mail’d try to make his 
horse walk without noise. You smelt ’em, Paddy- 
foot, didn’t you! Good bear! ’ ’ 

Whereupon he pulled one of the stub ears gent¬ 
ly, and started forward again. 

From the deep slumber which falls upon tired, 
healthy youth, Saul awoke in the night. This was 
almost unknown to him, and the fact that he occu¬ 
pied a strange bed could not account for it. He 
lay on his side, breathing gently, and, mildly won¬ 
dering how his eyes should open of themselves in 
this peculiar way, closed them again. But now 
his ears gave warning. His position was facing 
the window, and it was from this point the sound 
came—a barely audible sliding and slithering, as 
of something or some one passing over the sill 
with extreme care. In a moment now his brain 
shook off the sleep-mists, and became keenly 
alert. He remembered the sound below after he 
had raised the window. Some one was seeking his 
life, and it did not require a second thought to 
declare his name. Mack Leek had openly vowed 
vengeance that morning by the river bank, and 
he or an emissary was even now bent upon its 
execution. Clouds must have overspread the sky, 
for, strive as he might, Saul could gather no out¬ 
line of that which was approaching. The upper 
square of the window was dimly discernible, but 
the lower part was solid blackness. His revolver 
was under his head. Should he draw and begin 
to fire, or wait a few moments longer! But a 
quick second-reflection convinced him that he 
would gain nothing by delay, and probably incur 
great danger instead. The assassin would likely 
rush him, once within the room, and that moment 
Saul heard a sound like a heel scraping on wood. 



A STEALTHY ATTACK 


129 


As he noiselessly slipped his hand beneath his 
pillow he became conscious of a second presence,— 
an object which moved stealthily along his bed¬ 
side, brushing it as it went. Brentley instantly 
realized the significance of this. Roderick Dhu was 
keeping guard over his sleeping master. He had 
sensed or heard the intruder, and with padded 
feet which made no sound was slinking forward 
to the attack. Should he trust to the dog, or use 
the weapon he had now drawn? Before Saul 
could weigh the question thus suddenly presenting 
itself, Dhu leaped with a snarling growl of wrath. 
There came a report and a flash of flame from 
the window, and a bullet whined by Brentley’s ear 
as he flung himself from the bed. Came also a 
curse and a shout of pain from the darkness, the 
crashing of glass and the rattle of a stick upon 
the floor. Above the shrill barking of the collie 
was heard the snort of a frightened horse, then 
voices called within the house, and there were 
hurrying footsteps. 

As Saul reached blindly for a match, his door 
was flung open, and the young stranger whose 
luggage he had helped to carry rushed in. He 
bore a lighted candle in one hand and a long 
dagger in the other. Together the men dashed 
to the black opening in the wall where the window 
had been, for both sashes were gone now. Dhu, 
feet on the sill and ruff aflare, was glaring down 
into the inn yard and voicing his rage with each 
breath. The foreigner thrust his candle out into 
the night at arm’s length, but a breeze caught and 
fluttered the flame, making its small light more 
ineffectual still. Peer as they would, they could 
see nothing. An ironical laugh floated in from 
the road, followed by the galloping of hoofs. 

At this point mine host appeared in great haste, 
clad in his undergarments and a red flannel night- 



130 


A BLUEGRASS CAVALIER 


eap. In his hands he bore a blunderbuss, which 
he flourished with marked lack of caution. Close 
on his heels panted Moll, likewise garbed in a 
sleeping garment, and armed in turn with an 
ancient horse pistol. Behind her huddled the 
black servants, timorous and silent. Manse was 
inclined to be the hero of the hour. 

“Whut is it an’ whur is he?” he cried, poking 
about the room with his absurd gun, and even 
leaning to peep under the bed. 

“D’ye ’low he’s stayed to take a night with us, 
Manse Higbee ? ’ ’ retorted Moll, in fine scorn, ges¬ 
ticulating with her pistol in such a way that her 
spouse retreated precipitately from her. Then, 
turning with an abbreviated curtsy, she addressed 
the two men who stood with amused faces, watch¬ 
ing the scene. “It’s the fust time, young sirs, 
that cutthroats ’v ever come to my house, though 
maybe ’twas money they was after, an’ not blood. 
Did you see the vilyun’s face, Master Brentley?” 

“No, but there’s no use to worry,” replied 
Saul, coming forward with a smile. “I don’t 
think he will come back, whoever he is. My dog- 
met him at the window, and forced him through it. 
The fall didn’t hurt him, because he laughed as 
he rode away.” 

“It’s good o’ you to take it so light, Master 
Brentley, but if they come once they might come 
ag’in when there’s no men folks about to skeer 
’em away. I’m fair worrit an’ upset, that I am!” 

“Don’t feel anxious about it,” Saul reassured 
her, and he patted her shoulder soothingly. “They 
chose my room because they were after me. Go 
back to bed now, and enjoy your sleep, for I know 
you get up early. ’ ’ 

“When the fust rooster crows, I’m up!” piped 
in little Manse, deftly adjusting his nightcap, “an’ 
the ol’ woman stirs soon after.” 



A STEALTHY ATTACK 


131 


“There’s no more rest for me this night/’ an¬ 
swered Moll, “but I thank yon for your kindness. 
It’ll be a lastin’ shame to me that cutthroats come 
upon you beneath my roof. ’ ’ 

“Aye, beneath our roof!” chimed in Manse, 
turning to go. “If the dev’Is ’d only stayed till 
I got here!” he added, pausing and shaking his 
blunderbuss at the window. 

“Out! And give the gentlemen some peace!” 
ordered Moll, and her warlike consort vanished at 
once. “Sleep if you can, good sirs,” she con¬ 
tinued; “you can have a good warm breakfas’ 
when you want it.” 

The foreigner bowed gravely. Saul gave a smil¬ 
ing “All right, Mrs. Higbee; don’t bother about 
us!” and the landlady withdrew, driving the 
scared servants before her. When the clattering 
on the stair had ceased, our hero turned and held 
out his hand. 

‘ ‘ My name is Saul Brentley, and I want to thank 
you for coming to my aid.” 

With a lithe movement his companion placed 
the lighted candle he held upon the chest, then 
took in a firm, snug grip the offered hand. 

“My name is Gaston Chavannes,” he said, 
“and my only regret is that I had to tarry long 
enough to make a light.” 

There was such a genuine ring to this response 
that Saul felt his heart warming toward this 
dandyish looking fellow who smelled of perfume. 
Already he had proven he was not a coward. 
Would he not make a valuable ally in the adven¬ 
ture which lay ahead? 

‘ ‘ Do you tarry hereabout for a time ? ” he asked, 
following an impulse, “or are you simply break¬ 
ing a journey, overnight?” 

The Frenchman regarded his questioner keenly 



132 


A BLUEGRASS CAVALIER 


for a moment before he replied, in a low, troubled 
tone. 

“I am here on urgent business of the gravest 
importance, and stay until it is finished.” 

“I, too, have a mission here,” returned Saul, 
4 ‘ and I trust we may become friends. ’’ 

44 You honor me.” 

Chavannes gave a courtly bow. 

“I am going to confide in you, if you will permit 
me,” went on Brentley, “and I will speak while 
the candle burns, with your permission, as I don’t 
think either of us will sleep again to-night.” 

“By all means let us talk. Your confidence 
shall be respected.” 

Saul offered his guest a chair, but Chavannes 
waved it politely aside, and leaping agilely upon 
the bed, sat there cross-legged, toying with the 
long, slender dagger which he still held. 

“It’s a queer tale,” began Brentley, by way of 
introduction, taking a chair and thrusting his legs 
out in front their full length. 

Then once again he told of his night trip down 
the river, and of what befell him as he drifted, 
asleep, beneath the cliffs. The delicate white 
hands of his listener ceased their manipulations 
of the dagger at this point, and Saul noticed, in 
wonder, that his face grew stony all at once, and 
seemed to turn pallid in the candlelight. But part 
of this may have been imagination on his part, so 
the narrator forbore to break his story, but pro¬ 
ceeded until he came to that portion of it wherein 
he revealed to Dorothy Pembroke the missive he 
had taken from the bottle. Then, as under the 
commanding hand of a mesmerist, Gaston Cha- 
yannes slid from the bed, his eyes wide and star¬ 
ing, and the veins showing on his white temples. 

“Have you the letter!” he asked, in a strained 
whisper. 



A STEALTHY ATTACK 


133 


“I think so,” answered Saul, beginning to fear 
for the sanity of his new-found friend. “Toss 
me that waistcoat, please.” 

Chavannes seized the garment indicated where 
it lay on the foot of the bed, and thrust it almost 
fiercely into Brentley’s hands. 

‘ ‘ Quick! ” he breathed. 

And presently the soiled, crumpled sheet was 
between his clutching fingers. Thrusting it close 
to the light, he read the dim lines hurriedly, then 
dropped the paper and leaned against the chest, 
breathing hard. 

Saul sat in polite silence, awaiting an explana¬ 
tion. 

Presently Chavannes spoke. 

“I love Margot LaTour,” he said, simply. “I 
have come from Philadelphia to find her. ’ 9 

Brentley was on his feet, and his hands went out 
to grasp the shoulders of his new acquaintance. 

“And this morning I gave my solemn promise 
to Dorothy Pembroke to rescue this girl! It 
would appear we are traveling the same road, 
friend Gaston.” 

The mobile face of the young Frenchman lighted 
joyfully. 

“But how is it that you, a stranger-” he 

began, when the expression in Saul’s eyes stopped 
him. 

“You wonder why it is that I should undertake 
such a dangerous and difficult task for one whom 
I scarcely know? A natural feeling, indeed—but 
have you ever seen Mistress Dorothy?” 

“Never.” 

4 4 Then you can only partly understand.’ ’ Saul’s 
lips twisted in a peculiar smile. “I, too, am in 
love, you see.” 

“Oho! What good fortune!” And Chavannes, 
laughing, embraced Saul’s shoulder with one arm. 



134 


A BLUEGRASS CAVALIER 


“ ’Tis said in Normandy that a pair of lovers 
would not make one good fool, but we will prove 
the saying false. Oh, mon ami! You make me 
happy! The gods are kind, and Fate is generous! 
To think we should reach here the same day, to 
espouse the same cause, and meet thus on the eve 
of battle, as it were, to join forces. My heart 
has been heavy, but now it beats light—light! I 
could almost sing—Saul, you say? . . . Come ,, 
—snuffing the candle dextrously with finger and 
thumb and throwing the char away—“we must 
talk more, and be ready when the day dawns. ’ ’ 

Taking Brentley by the arm he drew him to the 
bed, and together they sat upon its edge. Cha- 
vannes produced cigarettes, which Saul declined 
upon the ground that he never smoked before 
breakfast, but presently the Frenchman's head 
was wreathed in folds of scented vapor. 

“You are on your native heath, and you must 
lead," he said. “The first question is: shall we 
pay or shall we fight?" 

“Pay?" 

“The ransom. The word which came to her 
uncle, old Anatole LaTour, the tailor, said that 
ten thousand dollars was demanded." 

“Dorothy told me that this uncle was poor, and 
that her own father could not command the ready 
money. There is nothing to do but go and get 
your Margot, by stealth or by strength." 

As Saul turned his head, he saw a row of very 
white teeth, and eyes smiling at him between nar¬ 
rowed lids. 

“Was the trunk, then, so light?" queried Gaston 
Chavannes. 

“What! . . . Why, then, did not Dorothy 

“She knew of me only as a poor scrivener to a 
notary. The good fortune came after sweet 




A STEALTHY ATTACK 


135 


Margot had been two days on her journey hither. 
A rich legacy from overseas—from a doting rela¬ 
tive, reached me. The trunk is lined with gold, 
friend Saul. Shall we pay, or shall we fight!” 

And this debonair son of Normandy brougnt 
his ankle to his knee, lifted his chin, and waved his 
cigarette airily. 

“We’ll fight!” replied Brentley, his hands 
clenching and a scowl leaping to his forehead. 
‘ 4 We’d be fine gentlemen to sit back and smoke 
our pipes and hand over a fortune to the damned 
brigand! Surely you can find better use for your 
gold than to dump it into this thief’s pocket.” 
Then, smiling, “ ’Twill buy frocks and pretty 
things for the lady, after the clergy has spoken.” 

“I would give it all to save her unharmed,” 
was the quick reply, in a devout tone. 

“And more too, did you have it, and were it 
necessary,” supplemented Brentley, warmly. 
‘ 4 But that must be our last move. Actual fighting 
is next to the last. Our cue is strategy, and quick 
work. Mack Leek knows I am on the ground, 
and he suspects I have his secret. That accounts 
for this disturbance here to-night. He doesn’t 
know you are here, but he will know it before an¬ 
other day is gone. He won’t dare harm the girl, 
so you can set your mind at rest on that point. 
But, once he is sure that we are seeking her, he 
may remove her to another hiding place. I learn 
that he grows bolder every day, and the good peo¬ 
ple hereabout are beginning to tire of his deviltry. 
So we can depend upon the sympathy and assist¬ 
ance of the community.” 

“What do you suggest!” 

“A reliable guide, and as direct a line as pos¬ 
sible to the river cliffs.” 

“Who goes beside us and the guide!” 

i ‘ A certain Scot named Bhoderick Dhu. ’ ’ 



136 


A BLUEGRASS CAVALIER 


In answer to the perplexed look on Chavannes’ 
face, he pointed to the recumbent form of the big 
collie. 

“Oh! It is well to have the brave dog. But 
would not more men be well ? ’ ’ 

“We do not need them. They would be cumber¬ 
some and in the way. I believe the retreat will 
be unguarded, if we can come to it. Our task will 
be to find it.’ ’ 

“You do not even know whether it is ap¬ 
proached from the river or from the land?” 

“It can’t be approached from the river. Read 
again what Margot says.” 

Saul took the piece of paper from Gaston’s 
hand, and drew the candle to that end of the chest 
by which they sat. 

“Here is what she writes: ‘My prison seems 
impossible of access. It is thirty feet down a 
sheer stone wall. I cannot escape unaided, for 
it is sixty or seventy feet to the river. ’ There you 
have it. It is either go down the cliff from above 
by means of a rope, or else find some passage 
inland leading to the cave. But the devil of it 
will be locating her. I am told there are miles of 
those cliffs, with a more or less uniform appear¬ 
ance. ’ ’ 

“It may take days,” said Chavannes, heavily, 
and sighed. 

“It is certain to take stout hearts and patience, 
but let us hope luck will be with us. ’ ’ 

“The candle’s going; it gutters in the socket.” 

“And yonder is the day,” returned Saul, rising 
and pointing to a dim gray square which marked 
the window opening. “Come, dress yourself, and 
we will eat. We must move quickly.” 



XI 


Presenting a fair damsel in durance vile; con¬ 
fiding to the reader the history of one Sis Tom- 
perhy, a hag, the which touches our story vitally, 
and ending with a voice calling in the night . 

The rising moon shone full upon a gray wall of 
stone which lifted a hundred feet or more from 
the rushing river. On both sides the stream this 
peculiar formation existed, hut the northern cliff 
was the one which caught the moonlight. For a 
great distance on either side the river was flanked 
thus, and between the high, sombre harriers it 
hurried on unendingly. The walls were creased 
with narrow, uneven ledges, whereon during the 
ages soil had accumulated, probably a mingling 
of stone-dust, storm-tossed leaves, and earth borne 
by the wind. None of this soil was of sufficient 
depth to give nourishment for a tree, but the 
scarps were flecked and patched with abortive 
vegetable growths; stunted saplings and under¬ 
sized bushes, clinging tenaciously to the beds 
wherein they were born and on which in time they 
were destined to die. Moss, too, had drawn its 
shadowy mantle across the monstrous slabs of 
stone, and sickly grasses waved in the wind like 
phantom fingers plucking vaguely at the air. Here 
and there the stone was riven, as though by some 
cataclysm of nature in uncounted years. Fissures 
appeared. Most of these were horizontal, as 
though caused by the giving way of certain strata, 
but now and then a vertical crevice showed. And 
it was at one of these crevices, high up on the 
137 


138 


A BLUEGRASS CAVALIER 


cliff where the river made a gentle curve, that the 
pale face of a girl appeared, gazing out with 
troubled eyes upon the stupendous grandeur 
spread everywhere around. 

For twice her height the rent arose, its sides 
uneven, the opening never large enough to admit 
the passage of her body. And this perhaps was 
well, for there had been times during the irksome 
days and nights she had spent as a prisoner here 
that Margot LaTour had felt she would have cast 
herself down into the swirling water. At first she 
had felt sure she could slip through the opening, 
but later discovered she was wrong. She was 
slight of form, but rounded prettily, and her large 
dark eyes were haunting in their wistful appeal. 
Now shadows showed beneath them, and her 
hands, as she clutched the sides of the opening, 
were ghostly white, and thin. Silently she stood, 
listening to the purling and gurgling of the river 
against the eternal base of her cruel fortress, and 
watching the moon creep up above the other cliff. 
She had come to wait for the moon, because it 
seemed so calm and pure, and in some way its 
presence brought a kind of relief. The first nights 
of her captivity had been horribly lonely, but 
when, later, a pale radiance stole through the 
prison window, she accepted it as a sort of com¬ 
panionship and thereafter watched for its coming. 
In the beginning, too, the old woman who was her 
jailer had appeared morose and disinclined to 
talk, though always kind. In the past few days 
the distressed girl had succeeded in winning her 
friendship, and this had made the confinement and 
dread less hard to bear. 

Margot gazed at the moon, and thought of the 
message she had cast out two nights before. 
Where was it now, she wondered. Miles and miles 
away, drifting along to some larger river? or had 



A DAMSEL FAIR 


139 


friendly hands found it! She had read of such 
expedients before, and often they had succeeded. 
But in this lonely country who could there be to 
pick up a floating bottle, should one by chance see 
it! She knew too well that the probability of its 
being found was remote indeed, and as the full 
significance of what this meant smote in upon her 
consciousness, her head dropped, and a sob strug¬ 
gled from her throat. 

A shadow appeared behind her, and a yellow 
claw-like hand crept to her shoulder. 

“La, La, now! It hasn’t cried for two fuh 
days!” crooned the crone, in a cracked voice of 
varying register. “ ’Tis not good for maids to 
stare at the moon. It breeds thoughts in ’em.” 
She patted the girl’s heaving shoulders. “I was 
a bonny lass myself once, mind you, though folk 
now call me Sis Tomperby, the hag o’ Beechum’s 
Woods. La! La! I moon-gazed, too, an’ I was 
fair as you, though nobody with an eye in their 
head would believe it today. Come, little dearie” 
—with a sudden tender inflection strangely at var¬ 
iance with the all but repulsive personality which 
voiced it—“let’s hang up the curtain an’ light the 
candle. Then if you’ll lay down to sleep like a 
good child, I might tell you a story—a story o’ 
maids and moons and men. . . . Now listen 

at me! Old enough to die, an’ chatterin’ sich silly 
stuff in vour years.” 

So, talking thus, the old woman gently drew 
the girl back from the fissure, loosed with a stick 
a heavy, dark blanket suspended in some manner 
at the top of the opening, and plunged them both 
in gloom. Another moment a sulphur match was 
fizzing and spluttering, and Sis Tomperby was 
bending to light a half-burnt candle which sat on 
an outcropping knob of limestone. Very much like 
a witch she seemed as she leaned forward, mechan- 



r 


140 A BLUEGRASS CAVALIER 


ically shielding the tiny blaze where there was no 
wind, for the shadows were great and the light 
was small. She had been a large woman in her 
day, and even at this time the stoop of age and 
toil and the queer array of shapeless garments 
which she wore could not disguise the fact. It 
would be impossible to give a correct description 
of her dress. A loose, formless black gown, a 
little shoulder cape, and something on her head 
which was neither hat, cap nor bonnet comprised 
her attire. A first glance at her face would in¬ 
evitably produce a feeling of repugnance, for be¬ 
fore one had time to analyze her features the long 
yellow fang which fell down upon her lower lip 
would instantly repel. But once past this ab¬ 
normality, the face of Sis Tomperby was not so 
bad. It is true it was wrinkled, and weather- 
tanned, and not too clean, but her nose must have 
come from an Hellenic source, and her eyes were 
kind. 

As the candle wick finally caught, smouldered an 
instant, then grew to a sphere of flame, the in¬ 
terior of the place was revealed. It was surpris¬ 
ingly roomy. Roughly measured, it was about 
sixteen feet in length, by ten broad. The cave 
narrowed abruptly near the cliff side. There were 
boxes and bags disposed about, and two couches 
made of twigs and moss, over which blankets had 
* been thrown. There was no visible means of 
ingress to the chamber, but of course it existed, or 
Margot and the old hag could not have been 
there. 

Sinking listlessly upon her couch, Margot 
clasped one drawn-up knee with her laced fingers, 
and looked up at her companion beseechingly. 

“I ees so tired and lonely, madame,” she said, 
piteously. “W’en are zey goin , let me depart to 
my friend?” 



A DAMSEL FAIR 


141 


“There, there,’’ soothed Sis Tomperby, waving 
one hand deprecatingly, then turned to go back 
to the curtain, which she examined closely to see 
that no light could escape around its edge. Then, 
coming back, she drew a low box toward the girl 
and sat down. 

“How long? How long?” pleaded Margot, her 
eyes brightening with moisture. “Won’t you 
show me ze way out, madame? Oh, I would bless 
you!” ; i 

And with southern fervor she threw herself 
forward and grasped the crone’s hand, gazing up 
with tragic, anguished face. 

Sis Tomperby gently smoothed the rumpled hair 
of her charge and smiled in sympathy, murmured 
something which never shaped to words, and pres¬ 
ently spoke. 

“I can’t do that, dearie. It’d be all my life’s 
wuth, an’ though I be nigh onto seventy an’ have 
suffered cruel hard endurin’ my days, yet I want 
’o live. Now ain’t that funny? It’s just born in 
a person. They’re skeer’d o’ goin’. Some are 
skeer’d o’ hell, an’ some just o’ the dark. I don’t 
know. But I want ’o live, dearie, same as you; 
an’ you wouldn’t have me kilt, would you?” 

Margot’s dark head drooped. 

“No, no. You bene good to me. I could not 
have live one day wizout you. . . . But ze 

men who bring me here—Oh, madame! ’ ’ 

She shuddered, and drew herself closer to the 
huddled form as if for protection. 

“Don’t worry your little kitten soul about that, 
’r them. Bless your heart! They ain’t goin’ to 
do you no hurt, not even the big one, an’ he’s the 
wust o’ the bunch. It’s money they’re wantin’, 
an’ they took a chanct at you ’cause they knew 
you’s cornin’ to visit at Cap’n Pembroke’s, an’ 



142 


A BLUEGRASS CAVALIER 


s ’posed your folks ’s rich. When the money comes 
we ’ll find a way out o ’ here—don’t you fret. ’ ’ 

Margot rocked her head in despair, and her 
voice came up muffled from the kindly lap where 
she had hid her face. 

“But I haf no money. I am poor—poor as ze 
church mouse. I haf no fam’lv but Uncle Anatole, 
an’ he scrape an’ save to sen’ me on zis trip. Ze 
money never, never come. Oh, I am los’, los’!” 

The sound of bitter, hopeless sobbing followed. 

After a while the cracked voice of Sis Tomper- 
by spoke. 

“When I’s young, gals didn’t stare at the moon 
just because it’s big and round. Ain’t you got 
no friends, little missy? Men friends, I mean— 
one man friend, I might mean, who’d git the 
money if he didn’t have it? Now, now, tell the 
truth! A gal with eves like yours, an’ hips, an’ 

_ r> 

With a short, sharp scream Margot sat up and 
thrust her hand over the babbling mouth. Old 
tongues sometimes speak truths which young ears 
do not like to hear. 

“Hush! Hush!” she cried, her cheeks tinged 
and anger in her eyes; brief anger, which passed 
before it could be seen by the laughing old woman. 
“You mus’ not talk ’bout me, my—myseff zat way 
when you name ze gen’leman, too. It ess not— 
proper! It ees vulgar— oui!” 

‘ 6 La, la, you young ones! ’ ’ cackled Sis Tomper- 
by, rocking to and fro, hiding her gums with three 
fingers laid horizontally across her withered lips. 
“But so was I fifty year ago. It’s natur’, an’ you 
can’t go ag’in it,” Then, soberly enough; “I 
didn’t ’tend to make you mad, dearie, but I’s 
thinkin’ the likes o’ you must have a sweetheart, 
an’ that he’d come postin’ when he got the news.” 

The girl, quiet now and gazing at the wall with 



A DAMSEL FAIR 


143 


introspective vision, put out a forgiving hand 
without turning her head. 

i i Ther’ ees one,’ 9 she said, speaking softly, and 
as though to herself. “He ees noble, an’ brave, 
an* loyal, an’ he will come—oh, he will surely 
come! But, alas! he too is poor. Maybe he mus ’ 
borrow for ze Ion’ journey. ... I see no 
hope, madame, unless you he’p.” 

She turned a pallid, stony face toward her aged 
jailer. 

“I can’t he’p, dearie; I must keep you safe. 
But you’re not nigh as bad off as you might be. 
Lay down, now, an’ while you git ready for sleep 
I’ll tell you a story, an’ then I know you’ll feel 
better. ’ ’ 

Margot smiled wanly. 

“You sink me li’l’ chiy to be made happy by 
fairy story?” 

The old woman, busy at the young girl’s couch, 
sighed. 

“It’s no made-up yarn, but a true tale, dearie. 
It’s laid heavy an’ dark in my heart a long time.” 

“Oh! ees it ’bout you?” exclaimed Margot, ris¬ 
ing and taking down her hair, and loosening her 
clothing preparatory to lying down. 

“Yes, it’s about me.” 

“If it ees sad an’ make you unhappy, maybe 
you better not tell it.” 

Drawing her abundant black tresses over her 
right shoulder, the girl began to braid them. 

“I’m tellin’ it to he’p you, an’ I’ve carried a’ 
open knife in my heart too long to feel any new 
hurt. . . . There now; lay down an’ curl up 

like a good child.” 

And while Margot obediently complied and 
clasped her hands beneath her head, Sis Tomper- 
by sank upon the box again, and let her fingers 



144 


A BLUEGRASS CAVALIER 


stray vaguely over her mouth after the manner of 
toothless old women. 

4 ‘It ees close in here to-night, madame, an’ 
smells of damp earth,” said the girl, after a few 
moments’ silence. “Will you not put ze curtain 
up, so ze fresh air may come in from ze river? 
Zen I sleep ze quicker, for I hear ze music of ze 
water below. It ees like a lullaby. Put out ze 
candle if you fear ze light will be seen. You can 
talk in ze dark, an’ I can listen.” 

The crone arose in silence and blew out the 
small flame, then as she laboriously lifted and 
secured the blanket which hung before the fissure, 
mounting a small ladder for the purpose, a flood 
of brilliant moonlight poured through the jagged 
opening, softly illuminating the cavern and falling 
over the recumbent figure on the couch. 

“ Oh! sank you, madame!’’ burst from the girl’s 
lips in grateful accents. “How beautiful! An’ 
how sweet an’ fresh ze air smells! Come, now, 
an ’ tell me ze story. I sink I go to sleep soon. ’ ’ 

“That moon, an’ you, take me back fifty years 
an’ more,” replied Sis Tomperby, returning to 
her former seat. “I told you I’s a pretty lass 
in them days, an ’ I was, though always a bit largish 
for a maid. The run o’ men like their women 
middle size, or under, but I had big bones an’ 
growed tall. I’s upstandin’ an’ high-headed, 
though, an’ the young bucks begun to look at me 
as soon’s my dresses was to my shoe-tops. My 
pa was a smith, an’ day after day I’d hang 
aroun’ his forge watchin’ him at his work. An’ 
there one day I met a lad I learnt to love. It’s 
the sweetest time in a woman’s life, dearie, an’ so 
it was to me while it lasted. I thought he loved 
me, too, for he spoke fair an’ made lots o’ brave 
promises ’bout what he’s do when we’s married. 
Pa never took to ’im, though, an’ tol’ me time an’ 



A DAMSEL FAIR 


145 


ag’in I oughtn’t to go with ’im. But I did. I’d 
slip out at night to meet ’im, an’ we’d walk in 
the moonlight an’ say sweet, foolish things. Then 
one night I listened when I shouldn’t, an’—an’ 
give in to ’im, believin’ his promise like silly 
women ’ve done before. The nex’ day he lef ’ the 
country, an’ never come back.” 

Sis Tomperby’s mumbling monotone stopped, 
while Margot lay with closed eyes and hands now 
clasped on her breast. Wonderfully sweet and 
pure she seemed in the strip of moonlight. The 
old crone sighed. 

4 ‘Never come back,” she repeated. “Pa s’pi- 
cioned what’s the matter, but I denied it till I 
couldn’t no longer, an’ then he drove me out. 
He’s a hard man, an’ had no patience with a 
woman’s weakness. I tried to fin’ the man who’d 
treated me wrong, an ’ went up an ’ down the coun¬ 
try lookin’ for ’im, but he mus’ have gone far 
away, for I never heerd of ’im ag’in. Some poor 
but kin’ folks took me in, an’ I worked for my 
keep. Then later the baby girl ’s lots o’ comfort, 
even if she didn’t have no name. She growed up 
buxom an’ bonny, with dimples an’ curlin’ hair, 
an’ a trick with her eyes that’d come from her pa. 
But her good looks was a curse instead of a bless- 
in ’. She had turned nineteen, when a rich stranger 
come along one day, drivin’ a couch-and-four. He 
stopped to ask the way, an’ seen her. He pre¬ 
tended business at the neighborin’ town, but ever’ 
day he’d manage to see my lam’. An’ do what I 
could to stop it, she went the way of her ma. An’ 
to make it harder, there was a’ hones’ young 
fellow crazy in love with ’er, an’ beggin’ ’er to 
marry ’im. He had a leather shop all ’is own an’ 
was makin ’ a good livin ’. Smart he was, too, an ’ 
full of Holy Writ, an’ he’d preach here an’ there 
as people asked ’im. He took to hard drink when 



146 


A BLUEGRASS CAVALIER 


he found out what’d happened, an’ soon struck 
out for other parts. 

“ Kitty waited for a year or more, believin’ her 
lover ’d come back for her, like he said he would. 
Then, like her ma ag’in, she took her girl chil’ 
one night an’ slipped away, takin’ the Lexin’ton 
stage. We never heerd of ’er ag’in, nor the baby. 
Then people say that I grieved so hard that I got 
off in my min ’, an’ roamd aroun’ the country like 
some wil’ thing. I can’t remember that time 
much, an’ maybe they’re right, but it don’t mat¬ 
ter. For a score o ’ years I’ve been outcast, beggin ’ 
or stealin’ or workin’ at times. Ten years ago I 
foun’ a’ ol’ empty cabin on the edge o’ Beechum’s 
Woods, an’ that has been my home ever since. 
An’ now, dearie, if you b’lieve in God, thank ’im 
that you ’re so well off, an ’ go to sleep. ’ ’ 

Closing her story with this abrupt admonition, 
Sis Tomperby got to her feet and stood for a 
moment with her hand on her side, where an ac¬ 
customed rheumatic pain hed seized her. 

Margot sat up on her couch, her big eyes filled 
with pity and tenderness. 

‘ ‘ Oh, madame! How you haf suffer! My heart 
it ache for you. Never will I complain to you 
more. I have been ungrateful to ze good God for 
his care of me. Now I pray his forgiveness an’ 
go to sleep. You have show me how wicked I 
bene, an’ I sank you.” 

Sis Tomperby made no reply, and in the still¬ 
ness of the rocky chamber, from far away, a 
sound was now heard which shaped itself to the 
name of Margot. 

With a quick exclamation of joy and surprise, 
the girl leaped up and pressed her fingers to her 
temples dazedly. Then a second time the night 
air brought her name to their ears, but whether 
from above or below it was impossible to tell. 

“Zey’re huntin’ me! Zey’re cornin’!” gasped 



A DAMSEL FAIR 


147 


Margot, excitedly, seizing the old woman’s arm in 
supplication. 4 ‘Oh! sank God! I soon be free!” 

Sis Tomperby turned with sudden sternness, 
and spoke rapidly. 

4 4 They ’ll never find us! Even by daylight the 
way is hard. Now listen close to me, missy. 
Promise that you won’t holler back; that you’ll 
keep still, or else I’ll have to tie your mouth shet 
an’ hold you till they’re gone!” 

Margot fell to her knees in entreaty. 

“Mercy! Oh, have mercy! Zey my frien’s! 
. . . Hark! ’ ’—as once more, plainer and near¬ 

er, her name was called. 44 ’Tis he, Gaston! He 
love me, an’ he haf come! I know his voice. 
Mercy, madame! In ze name of ze daughter you 
love’ an’ los’, let me cry to him I am here! Mary 
Mother will reward you! ’ ’ 

But her pleading fell on deaf ears. Even as 
her tumultuous words rushed from her lips, the 
crone picked up a shawl and began to fold it in 
grim preparation. 

4 4 Quick, now!” she said. 4 4 They’re gittin’ 
closer. Promise; or this goes over your mouth!” 

Margot arose, and stared in dumb misery at the 
transformed old woman. The enormity of this 
crime against her happiness and freedom tied 
her tongue. 

44 Promise!” repeated the relentless voice. 

Realizing that she had no other course, the girl 
bowed her head. 

44 1 will keep quiet, madame,” she said, calmly 
and with dignity. 

And so they stood mute while the calling con¬ 
tinued, ever drawing nearer, until presently the 
voice seemed just over their heads. Then it was 
that Margot, overcome, flung herself on the couch 
and shook with silent weeping, listening to the 
hail of the seeker above, which kept growing 
fainter until it could no longer be heard. 



XII 


Relating how Little Sam Pottle arrived upon 
the scene at a most opportune moment, and tran¬ 
scribing the revelation of Uncle Jacky Bibb. 

The appetizing odor of fried ham pervaded the 
lower hall when Saul and Gaston came down¬ 
stairs, from which they judged that breakfast 
was well under way. Although the sun was not 
yet up the light had greatly increased, and when 
they entered the tap-room they saw that it was 
occupied by little Manse alone. He was. standing 
at the bar, busy mixing rum and water in careful 
proportions. 

4 ‘Hey, young men! Up betimes, eh?” he greet¬ 
ed them genially. i ‘ What shall it be to start the 
day right, an’ tone up your bellies for breakfast 
Nothin’ better than two parts rum an’ one part 
water. ’ ’ 

“A little stout—straight, if you please.” 

Brentley spoke first, as he and his friend came 
forward in response to the invitation. 

“Aye, a man’s drink is stout,” averred mine 
host, and began to burrow among some casks in 
search of the desired liquor. “When I was your 
age I took it straight, too, but time brings 
changes, as the sayin’ is.” 

Producing a small demijohn, he wiped the dust 
from its neck with the sleeve of his coat, ignoring 
a cloth on a nearby nail which was evidently used 
for this and kindred purposes. 

“There, sir; fit for a king, an’ we had one,” he 
continued, removing the cork and extending a 
148 


LITTLE SAM POTTLE 


149 


glass of generous capacity. ‘ ‘ Make it a good one, 
young sir. When I’s your age I’d take it full, 
but my innards ain’t as hefty as they once was. 

. . . Now, Mr. She-Vong?” 

He spread his palms on the polished surface 
of the bar, bent his elbows outward, and regarded 
his other guest with an expression intended for 
one of polite attention, but which in reality was 
only a ludicrous grimace. 

‘‘I believe I prefer a light wine,” answered 
Gaston. 

‘ 4 Wine? . . . To be certainty. I’ll put the 

old woman ag ’in the world when it comes to mak- 
in’ wine. We grows our own grapes an’ gether 
the blackberries only when they’re ripe enough. 
Now which would-” 

‘ 4 Grape, if you please, and not too sour, ’ ’ broke 
in Gaston, interrupting Mansers garrulous flow 
of small talk, which had doubtless been increased 
by his morning potations. 

“And when you have done that,” spoke up 
Brentley, “fetch me some writing materials, if 
you will be so good.” 

For the memory of his promise to the devoted 
spinster aunt had suddenly asserted itself, and it 
dawned upon him that if the letter were not dis¬ 
patched that morning, it might be a number of 
days before he would find an opportunity to write 
again. A like promise which he had made to Jinsy 
was cast from off his mind. 

Little Manse, with great alacrity, placed the 
desired beverage before Chavannes, then turned 
with the lobe of his right ear held tightly between 
finger and thumb. 

“Writin’ things?” he repeated, perplexedly. 
“They must be about, but havin’ no book learnin’ 
—wait till I see the ol’ woman!” 



150 


A BLUEGRASS CAVALIER 


And out he scuttled like a scared rat in the di¬ 
rection of the kitchen. 

The two friends could hear his shrill voice stat¬ 
ing his wants, and this was instantly followed by 
the clip-clap of heavy shoes on the bare floor. In 
a few moments Moll came in with paper, ink-horn 
and quill. Her round red face smiled a welcome 
as she bustled to a table near and put the ma¬ 
terials upon it. 

“I wasn’t lookin’ for you gentlemen till half 
the mornin’ had passed,” she said, wiping the 
table top with a corner of her apron. 44 Quality 
natch’ly gits up late, an’ your rest was broke so 
outrageously. ’ ’ 

44 You’ve no idea who our visitors were?” 
queried Saul, pleasantly, dropping into a chair 
and drawing the paper to him. 

“La, sir! It’s got so lately folks dassn’t tell 
their own names above a whisper. It might be 
this an’ it might be t’other, but folks ’s ’ve got 
their livin ’ to make can’t afford to talk. ’ ’ 

She folded her bare, fat arms and looked with 
troubled face from one to the other. 

Brentley laughed. 

4 4 Oh, well! Maybe things will get better soon. 
Shall I have time to write a short note before 
breakfast?” 

44 Your breakfast will be when you want it, sir.” 

4 4 Thanks. Say in about fifteen minutes. . . . 
Friend Gaston”—as the portly form of the oblig¬ 
ing landlady waddled from view— 4 4 did you think 
to lock your door?” 

44 The key is in my pocket, friend Saul”—Cha- 
vannes was still sipping his wine with evident 
relish— 4 4 and it lies on my groin as heavy as a 
marlinspike. ’ ’ 

Saul had begun his letter, and the scratching 



LITTLE SAM POTTLE 


151 


of the imperfect quill sounded loudly in the quiet 
room. 

4 ‘ They seem good people here, and honest, ’ ’ he 
said, presently, 44 but I think we’d better risk 
the gold’s safety without telling them of it and 
asking them to guard it. They seem to have the 
utmost respect for an honest penny, and when 
one begins to think too much of an honest penny, 
they are sometimes inclined to look with favor 
upon a dishonest one.” 

44 I think with you. Each of us shall lock his 
door, and they can suspicion nothing.” 

A figure appeared by the open window at the 
end of the bar. Saul was busy with his letter, 
sitting half turned from the window, while Gaston, 
leisurely enjoying his wine, stood with his back 
square to the opening. The quill pen scratched 
on. 

“I hope Mistress Moll will kill another goose 
before I pass this way again,” muttered the man 
at the table. Then, aloud: “I shouldn’t think 
that gold was so plentiful in this part of the world 
that yours would be left to lie unnoticed. But 
no one knows it’s here; nor shall know from us.” 

A look of cupidity and exultation sprang to the 
fierce eyes of the face at the window, and then it 
gradually sank below the sill. 

4 ‘I misdoubt me of the talkative man, our host,” 
ran on Saul, speaking brokenly in his attempt to 
handle with his mind two subjects at once. 4 4 He 
helped carry the trunk upstairs last night, and 
knows its weight. And such as he can see the 
glint of a golden eagle through a two-inch stave 
of oak.” 

Chavannes drained his glass and set it down. 
Drawing a lace-bordered handkerchief from his 
breast pocket, he wiped his lips daintily, then 



152 A BLUEGEASS CAVALIEE 


gently shook the fabric before his face, thereby 
releasing the peculiar scent of patchouli.. 

“The trunk is triple-banded,’’ he said, “and 
the lock a new design which is claimed impossible 
to pick. Nothing short of high-handed burglary 
could harm us, mon gar con.” 

Saul was scanning with his eyes the concluding 
words of his short note. 

“-1 hope you are well, and that father will 

improve rapidly. Give him my love, and keep a 
vast measure for yourself. In regard to the cause 
of my leaving home, I want to say that I am 
already begining to see things in a slightly differ¬ 
ent light, and I hope by the time I return it will 
be to receive yours and father’s blessing. To-day 
I am starting on an adventure which will likely 
provide some excitement, but no danger.” 

With the corner of his mouth curved in a faint 
smile as he pictured Aunt Emmeline’s reception 
of this message, Brentley added another term of 
endearment, then quickly got his letter ready for 
the post. 

“ Now to breakfast, ’ ’ he said, rising. 4 4 1 feel as 
if I could eat a saddle-flap. Stay here, Dhu, good 
lad”—to the collie that arose at the same instant 
and started to follow—“Mistress Molly may not 
like nice dogs in her dining room, though she lets 
them sleep with their master. Lie down, and 
watch the good housewdfe’s store of liquor. ’ ’ 

Obedient to the voice he loved and to the gesture 
accompanying it, the intelligent animal, with a 
slanting upward glance of understanding and 
submission, walked back to the bar and dropped 
to the floor in his favorite posture, hind quarters 
on one hip, elbows flat and chin resting on his 
extended paws. 

As Saul and his friend passed from the room 
in quest of breakfast, a slinking figure doubled the 



LITTLE SAM POTTLE 


153 


corner of the house near which the emblemless 
sign hung, and swiftly crossed the yard to the 
highway. There, hugging the fence next the inn, 
where weeds and bushes formed an effectual 
screen, he ran rapidly but furtively for a quarter 
of a mile. Here he loosed a big black horse 
tethered to a locust sapling and rode as if pursued 
toward New Market. 

Ham, fried chicken, eggs and rich coffee have 
never been despised by good stomachs, and both 
Gaston and Saul did full justice to it that sweet 
Spring morning at the Limping Dog. They were 
the sole guests of the inn the preceding night, and 
ate their meal alone. Moll, ever solicitous of their 
comfort, was in and out with hot bread, and kept 
steaming coffee flowing into their cups so fast 
that they had to bid her desist. Gaston finished 
first, but one could not wonder at this, considering 
all he bore upon his mind. Then he was a trifle 
more delicate at his food than our sturdy Saul, 
who, while possessing refinement of manner, be¬ 
lieved in the strengthening quality of lots of 
meat, with which the table was well provided. 

“The sun is here,” said Gaston, presently, as 
a yellow shaft darted through the window and fell 
upon his sleeve. 

The remark may have been idle, but it had a 
beneficient effect upon the hungry Saul. 

“No more stout before breakfast when there’s 
swift work to be done,” he replied, smiling and 
pushing back his chair. “No, no, Mistress Hig- 
bee”—waving Moll aside as she appeared at that 
moment with an extra platter—“we are full nigh 
to bursting already.” Then, as the men arose: 
“We leave you for a while this morning. It may 
be we return to-night, and it may be several days. 
Consider our respective rooms engaged, however, 
until we get back. And here is an earnest that 



154 


A BLUEGRASS CAVALIER 


we are not running away. ’ ’ Whereat he deftly 
slipped a yellow coin into Moll’s wdlling hand. 

‘‘Oh, sir!” replied the delighted landlady, bob¬ 
bing and smiling, 4 4 an ’ I could not blame you had 
you left post-haste at peep o’ day, considerin’ 
that varlets set upon you. But it’s proud I am 
to be honored with the likes o’ you both, an’ your 
rooms are kep/ for you, as you say.” 

A heavy step, followed by an oath and a sum¬ 
mons joined, came from the tap-room. Moll flung 
up her hands, rolled her head on her fat neck with 
a despairing look, then flew to respond. Her two 
guests followed, mildly curious as to the cause of 
the uproar, As they crossed the threshold, they 
stopped for a moment side by side. 

A huge man was standing just within the door 
which gave into the yard. A black, sombrero-like 
hat looped up at one side and caught with a large 
silver buckle was on his head. He was booted to 
the knee, banded by a broad belt of black leather 
in which a pistol was thrust at one hip and a 
knife at the other. He had a luxurious brown 
beard which swept his massive chest half way to 
his waist, and his left hand was swathed in 
bandages. 

4 4 When did your public take to settin’ dogs to 
watch it?” he bawled, even as the friends entered. 

Roderick Dhu had not even lifted his head, but 
as every gaze turned upon him they could see that 
his eyes were glowing sulphurously as he held 
them fastened upon the newcomer. Also the hair 
upon his back had risen, and as they watched he 
slowly gathered his hind legs beneath him. 

Mack Leek whipped out his pistol with another 
oath and turned furiously upon Brentley, whose 
hand had crept under his jacket to the revolver 
butt hidden there. 

4 4 Will you call your damned beast off, or must 



LITTLE SAM POTTLE 


155 


I put a bullet through ’im?” stormed the big 
man, his face reddening angrily and his eyes 
flashing. 

“The dog won’t harm you if you don’t molest 
him—or me,” Saul replied, coming slowly forward 
until he stood between the collie and the infuriated 
man. 4 ‘ It would be better for you not to attempt 
to harm him.” 

4 ‘ Huh! Don’t I know better ? ’ ’ flung back Leek, 
thrusting out his bandaged hand. “What’s I 
doin’ to ’im when he sunk his teeth in that fist?” 

“He was doubtless wiser than I at the time,” 
returned Saul steadily, “for at first yesterday 
morning I was inclined not to doubt your hon¬ 
esty. ’ ’ 

Mack Leek took two steps, then stood with chest 
out and straddled legs before Brentley, the pic¬ 
ture of braggadocio. A growl came from near 
the bar, and the yellow-and-white ally was on his 
feet, slipping forward. Almost simultaneously 
Chavannes had moved to a spot quite close to 
Saul, his right hand thrust in the breast of his 
frilled shirt. 

“What do you mean, whipper-snapper?” thun¬ 
dered the pseudo horse trader, his eyes flashing 
in menace. 

Brentley put one hand back to stop the advance 
of Dhu, then answered promptly. 

“More than I care to say just now, but you will 
know in time—I think in a very short time.” He 
was sorely tempted at this point to throw off all 
concealment and charge Leek with the abduction 
of Margot, but the thought of Gaston checked him. 
The Frenchman would doubtless attempt the life 
of the kidnapper then and there. But the bravado 
of the big fellow was so offensive that Saul could 
not resist a covert thrust. Bending his body 
slightly forward, he gazed meaningly into the 



156 


A BLUEGRASS CAVALIER 


stormy eyes fronting him and said: 44 Have yon 
forgotten I came down the river?” 

It was a simple question, but its effect upon 
Mack Leek was electrical. He took a backward 
step, sheathed his pistol, then grasped his whisk¬ 
ers and wound them around and about his hand, 
till presently they resembled a twisted rope of 
brown corn-silk. That moment the doorway was 
darkened by the quiet entrance of two figures. 
Mack Leek, grinning evilly at a thought which 
that moment jumped into his brain, suddenly 
swung his arm back to strike the man who had 
spoken, intending then to run or fight,. as the 
ensuing condition warranted. But the taller of 
the two who had just arrived dextrously slid his 
arm beneath the backdrawn one, and by a muscu¬ 
lar twist sent the horse trader whirling toward 
the end of the bar, against which he brought up 
with a thump. 

Little Sam Pottle took a deep breath, calmly 
thrust his hands in his trousers pockets, and 
turned his round, good-natured face to the group 
by his side. 

44 What’s the trouble about!” he asked, shifting 
his position somewhat as he caught a faint odor 
of some strange perfume. 

Leek strode forward before anyone could an¬ 
swer, purple-visaged and breathing hard. 

4 4 This is the trouble! ” he exclaimed, producing 
his wounded hand. 4 4 That young outlander set 
his dog on me down at the ferry vestiddy mornin’, 
an’ he chawed me terrible. A minute ago I come 
here to see Moll on a matter o’ business, and got 
an insult from the same chap.” 

Little Sam Pottle laughed openly at this speech, 
while Big Sam echoed it in a softer key. 

44 That yarn’d make a schoolboy ’shamed of 
himseff,” ventured Big Sam. 



LITTLE SAM POTTLE 


157 


4 ‘It’s the fust time I’ve ever knowed you to be 
skeerd of a dog—or a man either, ’ ’ supplemented 
Little Sam, viewing keenly the sullen, truculent 
visage. 

Saul spoke. 

“The truth is, gentlemen, that my dog merely 
protected me yesterday morning when Mr. Leek 
attempted to swamp my boat by jumping his horse 
into it from the shore. He fell short, then tried 
to overturn me, with the result you see.” 

‘ ‘ Speakin ’ o ’ hosses, ’ ’ said Little Sam, his face 
hardening on the instant, “you ain’t seen no stray, 
Mack, yestiddy or the night before? We’ve lost 
one.” 

He hitched his sagging trousers, and watched 
the effect of his words. 

“No, I ain’t seen none,” came the ready answer. 
4 ‘ What kind was it ? One o ’ your best ? ’ ’ 

“Out o’ Sinkhole Field bunch. None better.” 

“When did you miss ’im?” 

“ Yestiddy mornin’. He strayed the night be¬ 
fore—or was stole.” 

Leek shot a swift glance at the speaker, but 
the steady eyes which met his caused him to shift 
his own. 

“I ain’t seen it,” he repeated, surlily, and 
turned toward the door. 

“He was a bay with white stockin’s an’ a good 
sixteen hands,” Little Sam called after him. 
“You’re a trader, an’ if you find ’im let me 
know. ’ ’ 

If the other heard he gave no sign, but strode 
on over the worn flagstones to his waiting horse. 

“My name is Brentley,” said Saul, taking Little 
Sam’s hand, “and I want to thank you for what 
you did just now. This is your father, I sup¬ 
pose?” shaking hands with Big Sam. “I never 
saw sire and son look more alike. ’ ’ 



158 A BLUEGRASS CAVALIER 


“Mjr. Pottle, Mr. Brentley,” said Moll, recover¬ 
ing from the perturbation begotten by the inter¬ 
rupted brawl. “Him we call Big Sam, an’ him 
we call Little Sam, us as live hereabout an’have 
known ’em always. An’ that’s a funny sayin’ to 
strangers, seein’ as the little one is bigger than 
the big one.” 

“Very natural, though,” said Brentley, and 
proceeded to introduce Gaston to the drovers. 

They took the slender fingers which he offered 
in an abashed way, then drew back uneasily, as 
though proximity to the neatly attired, smelly 
foreigner might work them some harm. 

“I’m sorry for the trouble I’ve had with that 
fellow,” ran on Saul, in easy conversation, plac¬ 
ing a hand on Big Sam’s shoulder, “but I couldn’t 
help it. I told you the truth a while ago.” 

“Mack Leek’s the pest o’ this county,” was the 
quick reply. “He’s a thief, an’ a footpad, an’ 
some say a cutthroat. He pertends to trade horses 
for a livin’, but if he ain’t stole one o’ ours, then 
the Jedgment Day’s a fraud!” 

Whereupon the yeoman spat through the open 
doorway by way of emphasis, and shook his head. 

“Come on, pap,” broke in Little Sam. “We’d 
better be goin’. . . . We’re crossin’ the river 

for some hogs we’ve bought,” he added, by way 
of explanation, “and are goin’ in the big wag’n 
to haul ’em home. ’ ’ He pointed toward the road 
where two sleek mules stood hitched to a heavy- 
bedded farm wagon. 

“Do you pass New Market?” 

‘ ‘ Straight through. ’ ’ 

“Would you mind two passengers that far? 
My friend and I are bound thither this morning, 
and have been wondering if we’d have to go 
afoot ’ ’ 

Big Sam: ‘‘ Git right in! ” 



LITTLE SAM POTTLE 


159 


Little Sam: ‘ 4 Welcome as can be!” 

Brentley rushed back to the kitchen to give 
Moll another reassuring word and caution her to 
see that his letter got off safely. Then presently 
they were bumping and clattering down the road 
in the spreading sunshine, the fresh breeze in 
their faces. 

Now, ere scarcely a quarter of a mile had been 
traversed, they drew near a quaint little dwelling 
which appeared to be made of logs, as much as 
they could see for the vines which clambered about 
its door and over its tiny windows. A path of 
beaten down wood ash mixed with sand led up to 
the door, and down this path as our adventurers 
came on toddled a weazened old man. He reached 
the roadside before the wagon came abreast, and 
held up his cane as a sign that it should halt. 

Little Sam drew up his team. 

‘ 4 Well, IJncle Jacky, what’s the word this morn- 
in ’, ’’ he asked. 

Uncle Jacky was visibly agitated. His hand 
was shaking violently on the top of his stick as 
he lowered it to lean upon it, and his head had 
a slightly palsied motion which was not habitual. 

“Hey?” he began, in a querulous key, coming 
forward a step or two and peering at Saul and 
Gaston, who had perched themselves upon the 
side of the wagon bed. His wrinkled face lit up 
as he caught sight of the Frenchman. 

“You be the youngun I seen at Manse Higbee’s 
las’ night, an’ you help me on with my coat, civil 
an’ kind. But who be t’other?” 

He perked his head toward Saul. 

“My friend, Mr. Brentley,” said Gaston. 

“An’ be ye from the Limpin’ Dog, direc’?” 

“Yes.” 

“Then ye saw Mack Leek, what the devil’ll git 
when all’s done, but did ye see t’other?” 



160 A BLUEGRASS CAVALIER 


‘ 1 He was alone. ’’ 

“T’other’n was before ’im the matter of a half 
hour—Georgey Snipper he was, a wastrel an’ a 
houn’! I know ’im. They run together o’ nights. 
I know, an’ I’m not skeered to talk. I know Mack 
Leek’s a vile varlet an’ has got a robbin’ band, 
an’ Georgey Snipper’s one of ’em. An’ you never 
seen Georgey Snipper?” 

He peered eagerly into each face above him, his 
mouth agape. 

‘ ‘ We saw no stranger till the big man came and 
tried to pick a fight with me,” said Saul. 

“Then there’s deviltry afoot—devil’s doin’s is 
on the road!” declared Uncle Jacky, shaking his 
head and drawing the back of a dried-up hand 
across his lips. “Listen to me, Sammy Pottle, 
an’ you younguns, too. I set a mighty store by 
yarb tea. Hit, an’ good liquor, hev fetched me 
well into the nineties. This mornin’ when I riz 
I ’membered that my yarbs was gittin’ pow’ful 
low, so I puts up the road todes Manse’s for some 
calamus root. They’s a little patch grows in a 
fence corner ’cross the road jes’ ’fo’ you git to 
the house. Well, when I got there I dug my 
calamus root, an’ hit’s good day but the sun 
hadn’t riz, an’ happenin’ to look todes Manse’s— 
what’d I see?” He paused a moment to gaze 
triumphantly at his auditors. “I seen a feller all 
doubled up-like scroochin’ ’round the corner from 
todes the tap-room like he’d stole somethin’. 
He’s watchin’ behind ’im, an’ I kind o’ eased back 
o’ some pokeberry bushes. He loped ’cross the 
yard pow’ful peart, an’ when he re’ch the road 
I knowed ’im, an’ hit’s Georgey Snipper. He 
kep’ hisself all bent over same as like he’d stole 
somethin’, an’ lit out down that fencerow like a 
black snake. Then after while I heerd a hoss a- 
runnin’, an’ I went home with my calamus root. 



LITTLE SAM POTTLE 


161 


Then soon’s I’d et my breakfas’, here come Mack 
Leek ridin’ by. Now! Who says the devil stays 
in heir?” 

He thumped his stick upon the ground and 
nodded sagely to each of his listeners. 

Gaston’s lips parted for a question, but Saul 
put a warning hand upon his arm. 

“Between daylight and sunup, Uncle Jacky?” 
he asked, in quite matter-of-fact tones. 

44 Aye. Breakfas’ was giftin’ in the kitchen, fer 
I seen the smoke.” 

4 ‘And he came from the corner where the tap- 
room is?” 

“Aye. Bain’t I been a-goin’ there for fifty 
year?” 

“It’s strange we didn’t see him. We were in 
the room at the time, taking a drink. Then I 
wrote a letter. And he slunk away in a hurry, as 
though he didn’t want anyone to see him?” 

4 4 Aye; an ’ was I younger I’d show you how he 
come. All hooped over he was, an’ hit was 
Georgey Snipper.” 

Saul turned to Gaston, whose face betrayed his 
excitement, and slowly closed one eye. 

“Well,” he said, “we didn’t see him, and if he 
stole anything it wasn’t from us.” 

“Hit was Georgey Snipper,” again asserted 
Uncle Jacky, although no one had seen fit to 
doubt the identity of the prowler. 

“The end of it’ll be that we’ll have to git to¬ 
gether an ’ run that gang out o ’ the country, ’ ’ re¬ 
marked Big Sam. “In my opinion a fust-rate 
hangin’ or two wouldn’t do no harm.” 

“You’d better toddle up the road an’ tell 
Manse,” drawled Little Sam, gathering up his 
lines. “That feller warn’t lavin’ ’round for any 
good, an’ no hones’ man wants to be hid.” 

He clucked to his mules. 



162 A BLUEGRASS CAVALIER 


Under the cover of the rattle of the wagon 
Brentley spoke in Chavannes’ ear. 

“Shall we go back?” 

“No!” came the immediate rejoinder. “That 
fellow heard our conversation and has told his 
chief the gold is there. But Margot is yonder! 
She may be suffering, and every minute means 
much, it would take time to negotiate a ransom. 
Let’s on, and find her quickly!” 

Saul reached for the other’s hand, and squeezed 
it hard. 

“Within another twenty-four hours, if pos¬ 
sible!” he said. 



XIII 


Being from its very nature unlucky, tells of a 
drop of bitterness which falls into Dorothy y s cup 
of love . 

i 

‘ ‘ Aunt Hittie, tell me, really, what you think of 
him.’ ’ 

Dorothy paused in her morning dusting before 
the great, gilt-framed mirror above the mantel, 
whether by chance or intent it is not our office to 
say. But it is no breach of manners to say she 
noted her reflection, and forthwith began to perk 
and turn her pretty head and finger the ruffled 
and laced cap atop it. 

The buxom lady seated in a low chair by the 
window, with a sock and darning materials in her 
lap, gave a fat sigh. 

“Well-enough looking, I suppose ,’ 1 she replied, 
with no trace of enthusiasm. 

Mistress Dorothy drew nearer the mirror and 
pulled a half-hidden curl from under the edge of 
the cap. 

“Don’t you think him handsome!” 

“When I was young, girls didn’t take up with 
every stranger they met in the road.” 

“But he helped me out of the ditch, and was 
so nice and courteous. And think how things 
have worked out! He had dear Margot’s note 
directing him to come here, and now he has vol¬ 
unteered to find her. . . . Aunt Hittie, do you 

believe in marriage!” 

“Child! Are you daft!” turning a scandalized 
163 


164 


A BLUEGRASS CAVALIER 


visage toward the young girl. 4 4 What do you 
mean, pray!” 

Dorothy slowly ran her dust cloth along the 
lower border of the mirror. 

“I mean, do you believe in love—love at first 
sight, and marriage !” 

Miss Mehitabel’s hands dropped over her work. 

4 4 You must be trying to perpetrate a joke, 
Dorothy,” she said, severely; 44 but if I were you 
I’d choose another subject.” 

44 I’m not joking. I just want your opinion. I 
know what I believe.” 

Something like a gasp came from the window. 

44 Dorothy Pembroke! You, with your blood 
and breeding and education in the east, to fall in 
love with a man who tramps about with a bundle 
on a stick! I won’t believe it!” 

44 1 didn’t say I was in love. I asked you if you 
believed in love, and marriage—and said I had 
an opinion.” 

4 4 But you implied you were, which amounts to 
the same thing. And I am shocked!” 

There was a large element of mischief in Dor¬ 
othy’s nature, and this ingredient prompted her 
to continue, in a politely argumentative tone, 
while moving quietly about with her dust cloth. 

4 4 1 can’t see why such an ordinary thing as that 
should shock you, auntie. Weren’t you ever in 
love ! ’ ’ 

Miss Mehitabel darted a keen glance in the di¬ 
rection of the voice, but the owner of it was kneel¬ 
ing by a big rocker with her face the other way, 
busy at her task. 

44 I thought I was once, when I was a snip of a 
girl—like you—but thank heaven I found out bet¬ 
ter before it was too late.” 

44 Then you don’t believe in those things!” 

44 Not as a rule.” 



BEING UNLUCKY 


165 


U I do. I think it right and natural. Why, 
everything in creation has a mate, auntie. Had 
you never thought of that? And do you think it 
right that humans, the highest form of creation, 
should go through life singly and apart? It’s un¬ 
natural. ’ ’ 

"In mercy’s name, where did you get all that?” 

Again the darning was temporarily suspended, 
and an amazed old maid sat dumfounded before 
the philosophy of youth. 

"I didn’t get it anywhere. It’s just a simple 
fact, which some people overlook. If I thought I 
had to pass through life unwed I’d—I’d almost 
as soon die.” 

“Dorothy! Don’t ever make a speech like that 
where others can hear you. It’s unmaidenly! ’ ’ 

"Of course, I wouldn’t tell a man that, Aunt 
Hittie, but it’s true, and nothing to be ashamed 
of. The birds mate, and the squirrels mate, and 
everything else mates; then why shouldn’t people 
mate ? ’ ’ 

"Don’t use the word ‘mate’ in referring to peo¬ 
ple. It’s inelegant. And I’d advise you to think 
a good long time before intrusting your happiness 
to any man. Am I to understand that you truly 
love this stranger whom you met yesterdayV’ 

Dorothy, finished with the rocker, now sat in it 
and faced squarely her perturbed relative. 

‘ ‘ I don’t exactly know, auntie. It does seem an 
awfully short time, doesn’t it? But if it should 
prove true, I would want and expect your sym¬ 
pathy and advice. You see, I have no other to 
go to.” 

Miss Mehitabel sniffed, and batted her lids sev¬ 
eral times as though her vision had become sud¬ 
denly clouded. 

"This is all confidential, of course,” Dorothy 
went on. "Nothing may come of it but, Aunt 



166 A BLUEGRASS CAVALIER 


Hittie, when I look at Saul something tingly goes 
all over me. Is that love, do yon suppose ? ’ ’ 

A recollection from the far past put the answer 
on Aunt Hittie’s tongue. 

44 1 think that is love, dear.’ ’ 

4 4 Oh, auntie!” 

And Dorothy clasped her knee, and set. her 
teeth on her lower lip, and looked actually fright¬ 
ened for the space of ten seconds. 

The darning needle again attacked the dim¬ 
inishing hole, and another sigh came from the 
-window. 

4 4 Never forget that, in heart affairs, it is un¬ 
becoming and unladylike for a girl to make any 
advances whatever. I trust you will remember 
that. ” 

44 Yes, ma’am,” very meekly. 

4 4 And as you have chosen to confide in me I 
must expect full confidence. Has Mr. Brentley 
shown any evidence of affection f ’ ’ 

4 4 He seems to like me-” 

“Like you! And you have allowed your¬ 
self-” 

44 No, no, auntie! You didn’t let me finish. 
He has given me unmistaken evidence that his 
heart is touched.” 

4 4 Such as-” 

44 Oh, in little ways one can’t describe. He re¬ 
cited a couplet to me, and said he wrote verses.” 

44 What was the couplet?” 

And though the words had been ringing in her 
ears ever since she heard them, Dorothy fibbed 
without a blush. 

44 Something about 4 honey’ and 4 love’. I can’t 
recall just how it ran. ’ ’ 

4 4 He didn ’t call you 4 honey ’! ” 

44 Oh, no! That was in the verse. It was the 




BEING UNLUCKY 


167 


honey that bees make. He said he composed the 
couplet, and it was very pretty.” 

“That’s not a good sign. Poetry makers are 
usually mighty poor stuff for men.” 

“But what of Chaucer, and Shakespeare, and 
Milton, and-” 

Aunt Hittle’s hand went up. 

“The first two are positively indecent, and the 
last one, poor fellow, was blind. There was some 
excuse for him, but there is no excuse for an able- 
bodied man with all his faculties writing poetry. 
One never saw a poet or a musician who was 
worth a pinch of snuff as far as real work is 
concerned. ’’ 

“But Saul doesn’t make his living writing 
poetry. He’s able to write it, that’s all; and I 
think it an accomplishment.” 

“That’s the second time I’ve heard ‘Saul’. 
Has your intimacy ripened to such an extent 
within twenty-four hours that you call each other 
by your first names ? ’ ’ 

Dorothy hung her head guiltily. 

“Has it!” 

“He wouldn’t promise to find Margot until I 
agreed. ’ ’ 

“And he calls you Dorothy!” 

“Yes, ma’am—but it’s to be a secret and you 
mustn’t tell, yet. You see there’s no real harm 
in it. It’s just a little unconventional on such a 
short acquaintance, yet I think Margot’s release 
is worth it, don’t you?” 

“I’m afraid you drive a poor bargain. You 
should have made him find Margot first, then the 
thought of the favor would have spurred him 
on.” 

“It never occurred to me, and he seemed so 
earnest about it, and he speaks so sweetly. I—I 
rather like it ’ ’ 



168 


A BLUEGRASS CAVALIER 


“I suppose in the next generation the girls will 
be proposing to the men. When I was a girl no 
young man dared use my first name to my face.” 

Dorothy thought of Saul’s opinion of the name, 
and did not doubt the statement was entirely true. 

4 ‘But the conditions were so extraordinary in 
my case. And he’s really a charming gentleman. 
You noticed that, I am sure, when he was here 
yesterday.” 

“He has a pleasant manner, I’ll admit, and 
deports himself well.” 

“And his family is just as good as ours. You’ve 
heard of Brentleys. They’ve served their country 
in war and in politics.” 

Miss Mehitabel placed the mended sock aside 
and picked up another. 

“I didn’t altogether like the story he told us 
about leaving home just because he wanted an 
adventure. There’s a fast streak in that blood, 
and young men are reckless. ’ ’ 

Dorothy lifted her head with a startled gesture. 

“What do you mean, Aunt Hittie?” she asked, 
in a changed voice. 

“There was one of that name brought trouble 
on Kitty Galory, who was old Sis Tomperby’s 
daughter. Sis didn’t live here then, but the story 
floated about the country. It may have been this 
boy’s father, and it may have been some one else. 
It happened nearly twenty years back. But the 
thought has come to me that maybe this Saul 
Brentley left home on account of trouble with 
some girl.” 

“Oh, auntie! Don’t be so unjust! I’m sure 
you’re wrong! He seems so clean hearted and 
carefree. If trouble lay on his mind he couldn’t 
be so buoyant. And if his father did sin-” 

“ ‘The sins of the fathers shall be visited upon 



BEING UNLUCKY 


169 


the children unto the third and fourth genera¬ 
tion. *’ 9 

“That’s archaic, and heathenish, and I won’t 
accept it! ” exclaimed Dorothy. “If Saul is good 
he is good, and no wrongdoing of his father could 
make him otherwise! ’ ’ 

“That is a very unchristian sentiment, my 
child.” 

“It’s a very human one.” 

There was no immediate reply. From the side 
porch the voice of the broken-winged mockingbird 
came harshly, imitating the cry of an angry jay. 
Then as her mind swiftly assimilated what her 
aunt had said, an alien fear took hold of Dorothy 
and she shook, as from a slight chill. 

“I’m sorry you spoke of your suspicions,” she 
said. “While I am sure you are wrong, still I 
can’t help but think of it, and it hurts.” 

She arose, removing her dust-cap. 

“It is my duty to safeguard you in every way 
possible,” replied Aunt Hittie, “and I am sure 
Jonathan would approve what I have said.” 

This reference to her father brought back to 
the girl that moment on the preceding day when 
she had presented him to Sau], and Captain Pem¬ 
broke had striven to recall when he had heard that 
name. It was the same Brentley Aunt Hittie had 
spoken of; she had remembered the circumstances 
while her brother had let it pass from his mind. 

“Straws show which way the wind blows,” re¬ 
sumed Miss Mehitable, with the merciless perse¬ 
verance of some characters, “and if this young 
fellow’s father took advantage of Kitty Galory, 
Saul Brentley himself would bear watching.” 

“I won’t listen to anything so unfair, Aunt 
Hittie,” answered the girl, her head up and her 
cheeks flaming; “and you probably forget that 
you are casting a reflection upon me, your niece. 



170 A BLUEGRASS CAVALIER 


I certainly don’t intend to cut Mr. Brentley’s 
friendship for the reason you give.” She walked 
to the foot of a closed-in stairway ascending from 
a corner of the room. “Will you please have 
Uncle Bacchus bring Lady Satan around? I want 
to ride to New Market this morning.” 

She barely heard the response of “Very well” 
as she ran upstairs, for she was beset all at once 
by some emotions she had never felt before and 
could not at all understand. 

As she rode toward the neighboring hamlet a 
quarter of an hour later she was still oppressed 
by a persistent mental uneasiness which she 
could not banish, for all she strove with her 
maiden commonsense to rid herself of certain 
haunting thoughts and so regain her poise. She 
wondered what her attitude toward Saul would be 
when she met him again, and her visit to New 
Market this morning had that hope as a basis. 
She wanted to see him, and talk to him, and decide 
within herself if he could possibly be a man who 
would do any low thing. Should her manner be 
different toward him when they met? Should she 
appear a litle cold, and a little reserved? That 
wouldn’t do, because that would be somewhat 
cowardly, and she didn’t feel that way in the 
least. She was only conscious of a dull hurt 
somewhere in her breast. It was a kind of hurt 
she had never felt before—a continuous, contract¬ 
ing sort of pain in the region of her heart. 

At last she managed to draw the spirited Lady 
Satan down to a walk, and forgetting for a mo¬ 
ment the glorious sunshine and wide blue sky, she 
crossed her hands on the saddle-horn and went 
forward with bent head, thinking thoughts of her 
own. She looked up with a start when the black 
mare stopped still. Saul stood at her horse’s 
head with one hand on the bridle near the bit, the 



BEING UNLUCKY 


171 


other pulling the cap from his head. They were 
almost at the identical spot where they had met 
the day before, and looking past the smiling, eager 
face so near her, Dorothy saw a wagon drawn by 
two mules going down the road to the ferry, while 
in the middle of the highway perhaps forty yards 
distant stood the figure of another man. The 
faithful Rhoderick Dhu was sitting on the grass 
to one side, his tongue lolling. 

“Greeting, fair Dorothy!” exclaimed Saul, 
sweeping his cap almost to the ground in a pro¬ 
found bow. “Will you forgive a highwayman 
who only demands a smile and a few words of 
welcome ? ’ ’ 

And two hasty steps brought him to her side, 
where he stood with expectant face and upheld 
hand. 

Almost mechanically she put her hand in his, 
looking into his eyes with unconscious intensity. 
She found them gray and steady, with a trace of 
tenderness. Then as he suddenly began to close 
his fingers around hers with a gentle pressure, 
she flushed and jerked her hand away, but there 
was no rebuke in the smile which lighted her 
face. 

Saul looked rueful. 

‘‘ Girl of the honey-colored hair, 

Tell me why you are so fair?” 

“No compliments this morning, and no poetry,” 
she replied. ‘ ‘ Great deeds must be done to-day. , ’ 

It was impossible in his presence to give ear 
to the little devils which had been riding with her. 
She put them away peremptorily, and con¬ 
tinued— 

“But before making your report, tell me, pray, 
who is yonder gentleman that seems undecided 
whether to come forward or stay where he is?” 



172 


A BLUEGRASS CAVALIER 


The lone figure indeed appeared restless, for he 
could not remain in his tracks. 

“That is a friend whom I hope to present to 
you in a very few minutes. We came hither from 
the inn in that wagon which you perhaps saw. I 
observed your approach, and it is at my bidding 
he stays yonder while I ran to meet you. ’ ’ 

“For what purpose, I wonder?” 

“A brief conversation with you alone, lady, be¬ 
fore the work of the day begins. ’ ’ 

Dorothy did not answer. There was something 
in his tone and glance which sent her heart racing. 
Brentley went on, speaking low and earnestly. 
“Did I dream, or did you place your hand upon 
my head at parting yesterday afternoon, and bid 
me God-speed and win—for your sake ? ’ ’ 

Her voice was distinct, but a trifle uneven, when 
she spoke. 

“I did lay my hand upon your head, and bid 
you God-speed, and win. ’ ’ 

“For your sake!—Or did I dreamf ” 

‘ ‘ For my sake. I said it. ’ ’ 

His hand came up and covered both of hers on 
the saddlehorn. 

“They were the dearest words any man has 
ever heard, sweet Dorothy. Did you mean them?’’ 
“I meant them, Saul.” 

“Oh wonderful girl! Little did I know when 
I drifted on the river’s breast two nights ago that 
I was floating into heaven! ’ ’ 

He felt her quiver, and saw her white teeth 
press her lip. Then with a quick, impulsive move¬ 
ment she leaned from the saddle toward him and 
gazed searchingly in his eyes. 

“Will you tell me the truth, without evasion, 
if I ask you a question?” 

“I will,” he said, wondering what she could 
mean. 



BEING UNLUCKY 


173 


“Then answer: was the reason you have given 
us for leaving your home the entire cause ?” 

She was watching him closely, and he could see 
that she was hoping his reply would be in the 
affirmative. But the clear eyes above him com¬ 
pelled the truth, and he had given his word. 

“No,” he said, his face clouding, but his look 
unfaltering. 

“It really was incidental to the true cause, was 
it not!” 

“Yes.” 

Her cheeks had lost their rich color and her lips 
were strained, but she was brave. 

“What was it—the real reason?” 

Saul put up his other hand to her elbow in a 
gesture of entreaty. 

“Don’t ask me now! Not this moment—not 
this morning. Let me take this brief meeting, 
as it has been up to this moment, with me when 
I go presently to find your friend. Then I will 
answer your question, truly and fully.” 

She sat erect and looked past him at a field 
of young wheat which rippled from her in sound¬ 
less waves. 

“Is it so bad as that?” she asked, in dull tones. 

“No; but I feared you would not understand.” 

She faced him again. 

“I must know now. Was it because of a girl?” 

“Yes. I could explain the circumstances if I 
had time.” 

Dorothy’s chin went up and her delicate brows 
arched. 

“Your friend is approaching,” she said, very 
coldly. “No doubt he thinks we have acted most 
uncivilly. ’ ’ 

Conscious that an acute mental misery had all 
at once seized him, Saul stepped back without an¬ 
other word, and wheeled. Gaston was really com- 



174 


A BLTJEGRASS CAVALIER 


ing down the lane. Brentley beckoned him for¬ 
ward and, as he presently stopped with bared 
head, spoke. 

“Miss Pembroke, permit me to present Cheva¬ 
lier Chavannes, arrived last night from Philadel¬ 
phia. ’’ 

Dorothy’s face became radiant on the instant, 
and she held out her hand with a cry of surprise 
and delight. Chavannes bent low with his hand 
on his breast. 

“And you are Margot’s friend, of whom she 
has written! How glad I am to know you, and 
how good it is for you to be here! ’ ’ 

Gaston advanced and bowed again over the 
fingers which he took. 

“I have heard of you, too, lady,” he replied, 
smiling; “and with your gracious permission I 
would add that none of the reports which have 
reached me were colored.” 

Mistress Dorothy gave a ringing laugh at this 
speech, and shook her head. 

“Fie on you, m’sieu! But I should chide the 
nation, and not the individual. I have been told 
your countrymen were all gallant. ’ ’ 

“A boor would be inspired to gallantry were 
he in my shoes this moment,” retorted the ready 
Gaston. 

“No wonder you’ve won our Margot, with such 
speeches as that on your tongue. ’ ’ 

Chavannes turned slily toward Brentley, who 
stood with half a scowl on his good-looking face. 

“And here is one who no longer ago than last 
night said something you’d be delighted to hear.” 

“Oh, he has that for every maid, no doubt!” 
laughed Dorothy, airily, wickedly wounding afresh 
the poor fellow, who could say nothing in his de¬ 
fense just then. “You must come on home with 
me at once, and meet father and auntie, and tell 



BEING UNLUCKY 175 


us what you have decided upon. It’s not far, and 
were you not bound thither, anyway ?” 

“Indeed we were. But let Saul speak; it is he 
who leads/ ’ 

“We want horses and a guide,” explained 
Brentley, 4 4 and I knew of no other place to go for 
them. The quicker we can get them and make a 
start, the better it will be.” 

Briskly and decidedly Saul talked, as if for the 
time there were only one thing to do and all else 
must take second place. Dorothy was conscious 
of some amazement at his sudden display of 
seriousness, but she replied in like maner. 

44 You are right. Come.” 

And turning the black mare around, the three 
started back down the lane. Saul was on her 
right and Gaston on her left, and consequently 
most of Dorothy’s remarks went in the latter 
direction. She was more piqued than hurt, for 
she really did not believe for a moment that Saul 
had been guilty of any grave misdemeanor. But 
what woman could have resisted that opportunity 
to grow distant and haughty, and so put her lover 
on nettles for a time? Certainly we must not 
blame too harshly this fair daughter of Eve. The 
chance had come and she had taken it, and now 
she was miserable and vexed with herself; and 
Saul was miserable and forming new cuss-words 
in his mind, and everything was as it should be 
between two young people who were at their par¬ 
ticular stage in the game of love. 



XIV 


Informing the reader that love is the strangest 
thing in life except a woman, and bringing our 
brave hero and his equally brave friend to the ; 
scene of their search for a damsel in distress. 

Two hours later they were ready to start. A 
detailed account of all that had happened at the 
inn had been given and discussed, including the 
advisability of offering ransom. This had been 
voted down. Captain Pembroke gave it as his 
opinion that the man who attemped to enter 
Saul’s room was either Mack Leek or Gypsy 
George, and that the person Uncle Jacky Bibb had 
seen leaving the inn had been sent there to in¬ 
vestigate the result of the attack and had acci¬ 
dentally overheard the conversation in the tap- 
room. Then needs of the moment came up. 

Horses had been immediately available from 
the stable of Captain Jonathan, but the question 
of a guide proved harder to settle. At last, in 
lieu of anyone more desirable, it was decided to 
send Uncle Bacchus in this capacity. The old 
negro was tough and active for his years, and was 
thoroughly familiar with the country round about 
for many miles. He was summoned before the 
council, which held its meeting in the sitting room 
to the right of the big hall. It had been agreed 
not to acquaint him with the nature of the journey, 
for his notorious cowardice would in that event 
most likely have caused him to feign sudden ill¬ 
ness in order to stay at home. Presently he stood 
in the hall doorway. 


176 


THE STRANGEST THING 


177 


Uncle Bacchus,” began Captain Jonathan, 
bluffly, “here are two gentlemen, my friends, who 
want to go to the river cliffs.” 

“Yessuh, marse.” 

“You know where they are, of course, and the 
best and quickest way to reach them?” 

“Yessuh, marse; but dey’s cliffs en cliffs in 
dem regums. Dey’s miles on ’em; yessuh.” 

You’re right. Could you go with these gentle¬ 
men and show them the way?” 

“Who?—Me?” 

“I’m talking to you, ain’t I?” 

4 ‘Yessuh, marse, you sho is. An’ you’re talkin’ 
skeery talk, too! ’ ’ 

“I don’t want any foolishness out o’ you now, 
Uncle Bacchus.” 

“I ain’t talkin’ no fool talk, marse. Dem cliffs 
is ha’nted!” 

“Do you know the way to ’em?” 

“I used run ’roun’ dah plenty when I’s a young 
man. ’ ’ 

“Well, then, you show these gentlemen how to 
get there. I don’t mean show ’em; I mean take 
’em.” 

“When dey gwi, marse John?” 

4 ‘ Right now. ’ ’ 

“An’ when dey cornin’ back?” 

“I don’t know, and they don’t either.” 

The old darky rolled his eyes toward Saul and 
Gaston. 

“You gem’n cornin’ back ’fo’ de night?” he 
asked. 

“We may be there several nights,” Brentley 
answered. 

“Fo’ Gawd’s sake, marse John! De ribber 
cliffs at night?” 

Chavannes turned. 

“W*e won’t need him after we get there, cap- 



178 


A BLUEGRASS CAVALIER 


tain. Indeed, it would be better for him to come 
and go, bringing us food each day in case our 
task is prolonged. ’’ 

“Dat soun’s mo’ lak business to me! n muttered 
Uncle Bacchus. 

4 4 All right, ’ ’ assented Captain Jonathan. “ Just 
as you say about that. . . . Hittie, you’d bet¬ 

ter have Cynthy wrap up somethin’ for ’em for 
to-day and to-night.” 

Miss Mehitabel left the room at once to prepare 
a lunch, while Uncle Bacchus, with a bow and a 
scrape, ‘ 4 lowed he’d go tek a look at de hosses. ’ ’ 

Saul spoke. 

“Don’t you think it would be better if the gold 
were brought here? That outlaw will be almost 
certain to try for it at the inn.” 

The farmer slapped his thigh. 

“The very thing!” he cried, heartily. “Cer¬ 
tainly that dev’I’d get it if left there over-night, 
if he had to burn Manse out. I’ll go myself, and 
have the trunk here sale and sound by midday.” 

“Shall I write an order to the landlord?” sug¬ 
gested Gaston, politely. 

Captain Jonathan roared. 

“Order! Bless you, no! Manse knows me and 
I know him and he’d take my word as quick as he 
would an order.” 

“The room is locked. This is the key.” Gas¬ 
ton passed it over as he spoke. 

Saul’s mood had been gloomy since the unfor¬ 
tunate termination of the talk in the lane. On 
their way back to the house Dorothy had all but 
ignored him. It was perhaps natural that she 
should give most of her attention to the new¬ 
comer, but Brentley’s heart was sore, for he felt 
that she had not given him a chance. He had 
acted fairly, and she had taken snap judgment of 
him instead of allowing him to explain. And 



THE STRANGEST THING 


179 


though her eyes were still like dew-waslied violets 
and her lips like geranium petals, he persistently 
refused to look toward her during the time they 
were in the sitting room. He had taken part in 
the general conversation, but his face had a for¬ 
eign, stern expression, and his voice sounded hard. 
Dorothy had watched him furtively all through 
the conference, and her little heart had begun to 
beat in dismay. She had acted hastily, maybe 
cruelly, because he had been so manly and truth¬ 
ful. And as the time drew near for him to leave 
upon her errand, the sly little minx began to lay 
a plan. He was going into danger for her, brave¬ 
ly, uncomplainingly, because he had given her his 
promise and was too much of a gentleman to 
break it. When all the party presently arose, the 
girl slipped from the room without a word, crossed 
the hall and went into the parlor on the other 
side, leaving the door partly ajar. Saul noted 
her departure and wondered at it, but of course 
said nothing, supposing she would return pres¬ 
ently. 

“I hope you’ll have luck, gentlemen,” said Cap¬ 
tain Jonathan, “but you’ve surely got a tough 
job.” 

4 4 1 think we ’ll win, ’ ’ said Saul. 

And Gaston: 4 4 1 know we will. ’ ’ 

4 4 Well, youth and love are a hard team to 
tight,” agreed the host. 4 4 1 ’ll see to the trunk, 
and agree to keep you in food while you’re gone. 
It’s a God-forsaken district you’re headed for— 
but here’s Hittie with the grub. I’ll see you off.” 
And turning, he followed his sister outdoors, 
Chavannes at his heels. 

Brentley lagged behind, taking slow and short 
steps, wondering what had become of Dorothy. 
Was she truly hurt with him and already in the 
yard, waiting with the others to bid him a formal 



180 


A BLUEGRASS CAVALIER 


farewell? If so, well and good! He would be no 
woman’s football, however beautiful and charm¬ 
ing she might be. And throwing up his head he 
strode firm-footed into the hall. Opposite the 
parlor door he heard a sound which stopped him. 
It was a stifled sob, and it came from the room 
to his right. A second later he was across the 
portal, peering here and there through the semi¬ 
gloom which filled the apartment. A spinet stood 
in the furthest corner, and leaning against it was 
a shadowy shape. A second trembling sob told 
him who it was. Crossing the floor swiftly, a joy¬ 
ous elation filling him, Saul boldly put his arm 
around the shaking shoulders and drew Dorothy 
to him with tender strength. He gently pulled 
her hands down from her eyes, and though it was 
almost dark where they stood she would not let 
him see her face, but turned and hid it on his 
chest. 

“Blessed little lamb!” he soothed, stroking the 
rebellious hair and bending his head that he might 
speak softly. 44 Don’t cry, my sweet! Look up 
at me and give me a blessing from your eyes 
before I ride.” 

A trembling sigh, a snuffle, and one arm went 
slowly up and stole around his neck. 

Then for the first time Saul drew her round 
young body to him and knew the subtle warmth 
of her pliant grace. He could feel her firm breast 
against his side and the turbulent heaving of her 
bosom against him. Then for a moment fire filled 
his veins and scorched his brain and he came to 
himself only when she gave a choked cry. 

‘ ‘ Forgive me! Forgive me 1 ” he muttered, still 
holding her to him with unconscious force. “I 
wouldn’t hurt you for God’s throne! Now tell 
me you love me as I do you, and let me go!” 



THE STRANGEST THING 


181 


Dorothy’s answer came in a muffled whisper 
from his shirt front. 

“Tell me it’s not true—that there is no other 
woman—that you’ve never loved anyone else— 
that I am everything and all—and will he forever 
—and—and—and then I’ll he happy!” 

Throwing hack her head, she looked at him and 
smiled. 

“By Christ’s love!” he vowed, “you are all 
that to me, and more! There is none other, nor 
ever shall be!” 

“Oh, my Saul!” 

And tiptoeing, she lifted him the red fruit of 
her lips. 

Before he could realize this unexpected bounty 
steps sounded on the porch and the spinster aunt 
came hurriedly in, calling—“Dorothy!—Mr. 
Brentley! ’ ’ 

The lovers drew apart, simultaneously, the girl 
answering: “We’re coming, Aunt Hittie! Here, 
in the parlor. I wanted to show Mr. Brentley our 
spinet heirloom. ’ ’ 

“Indeed!” retorted Miss Mehitabel, marching 
into the almost dark apartment. “It’s a mighty 
poor light to show anything off in. ’ ’ And hustling 
to a window she flung the green shutters wide. 
“Now, if Mr. Brentley wants to see the spinet, 
he may—but why have you been crying, niece?” 
Her eyes, aglow with suspicion, darted from one 
to another of the young people. 

“Poor Margot!” glibly replied the seraphic 
hypocrite. “I suppose I cry because of her 
plight, and the thought of seeing her again, too. 
Women are such paradoxical creatures. Were I 
a man, I don’t think I would look at one twice.” 
She cast an adorable glance at the tall, big¬ 
shouldered figure which stood, a little abashed, at 
her side. 



182 


A BLUEGRASS CAVALIER 


Miss Mehitabel’s thin lips went in and her face 
assumed a severe expression. 

“You can be flippant on quite serious occasions, 
niece, and you know that is something of which 
I never approve. . . . Mr. Brentley, I am 

sure they are waiting for you. ” 

Saul bowed. 

“Thank you, Miss Pembroke. I am coming. ,, 
To Dorothy: “Won’t you be kind enough to 
grant me a stirrup-adieu!” 

“Surely. And when you return with poor Mar¬ 
got, I will play on the old spinet for you. It is 
very dear to us.’ 9 

“It is thrice dear to me!” whispered Saul, as 
they trailed after Aunt Hittie, and he gave her 
hand a surreptitious squeeze. 

They found Gaston already mounted, and Uncle 
Bacchus standing holding two horses by their 
bridles. Saul, accustomed to fine stock, knew at 
a glance that each of the animals was blooded. 

“I must congratulate you on your stable, cap¬ 
tain!” he cried, feeling so happy that he wanted 
to shout his joy to the high sky. “We’ve no 
better up our wav, and that’s a great concession.” 

“They’re as good as any in this section, with 
the exception of one or two the Pottles own,” 
granted Captain Pembroke, eyeing the three 
graceful beasts proudly. “You know you may 
have to run before this business is over, and if 
you do you don’t want to get caught. This is 
yours, Brentley”—taking a chestnut by the bridle 
and leading him forward a few steps. ‘‘ He never 
gets tired and can live on moss if necessary. ’ ’ 

“Thank you, sir. And now I guess we’d best 
be off. As Uncle Bacchus goes and comes we will 
send word of our progress. We are staying till 
we find Miss LaTour.” 

Gladly would Saul have made conversation in- 



THE STRANGEST THING 


183 


definitely, for it took all his strength to leave the 
sweet presence standing on the grass so near, but 
he could see poor Chavannes restless in his sad¬ 
dle, and the time for parting was at hand. 

“Good-bye, all!’ ? he called, waving a farewell. 
Then he deliberately turned and grasped Doro¬ 
thy’s hand. “I am your knight in this adven¬ 
ture, ’’ he said, speaking low and swiftly, ‘ 4 and I 
am going to succeed.” Then, smiling into her 
eyes: “How could I fail after the past fifteen 
minutes! Good-bye, my sweetheart!” 

Wheeling, he swung himself to the saddle. 
Uncle Bacchus climbed astride his mount also and 
the little party set out. 

Reaching the highway: “Do we go through 
New Market, Uncle Bacchus!” asked Saul. 

“Yessuh, marse; straight t’roo.” 

“Isn’t there another way! There are some 
people we don’t want to meet now.”' 

“Dey’s a cut-off, yessuh, a lane lak; den we c’n 
go t’roo Marse Pottle’s fiel’.” 

“All right, let’s do that. Ride on ahead now. 
We’ll keep you in sight and follow.” 

“Yessuh, marse.” 

The old darky touched his horse’s ribs with 
his heel, and cantered forward until he had gained 
a position a score of rods in advance of the two 
friends. 

“Vive la France, mon gar con /” exclaimed 
Brentley, a surge of intense feeling tightening his 
breast and creating a desire to shout aloud. 

“Why so in particular, good Saul!” queried 
Gaston, turning a face which mirrored mild sur¬ 
prise. 

“Because its lilies are white, for one thing, and 
so is my lady’s neck. For another, it gave me 
you. ’ ’ 



184 


A BLUEGRASS CAVALIER 


The speaker regarded His companion with a 
tender, musing smile. 

Said Gaston: “I was wondering what kept you 
in the house when I was so eager to be off. She 
was almost malicious in the lane, yet I saw back 
of her forced gaiety. And she relented at the 
moment of departure ? ’ ’ 

“Aye; sweetly, gloriously, heavenly. Love is 
a strange thing, m’sieu.” 

And having delivered this staggering truth, 
Brentley sighed heavily. 

i ‘ But stranger than all else is woman; complex, 
mysterious, never to be understood. ’’ 

“Your face is very smooth for your mind to 
ponder such deep things.’’ 

“I was thinking especially of the Lady Dor¬ 
othy’s recent behavior. I’ll warrant there was 
slight, or no cause, for her conduct in the lane.” 

A quick frown wrinkled Saul’s brow. 

“That’s as it may be, my chevalier. You see, 
there was another woman, and she made me con¬ 
fess it.” 

“Ah!” 

Chavannes’ eyes grew wider. 

“Yes. Unfortunately there is a philandering 
streak in my blood, and that is the cause of my 
riding, on this quest with you instead of biding at 
home in gentlemanly ease.” 

“Benevolent streak!” murmured Gaston, and 
dropping his reins, began to roll a cigarette. 

“You’ll foreswear my company when you hear 
it all. She’s a gvpsy-like bar-maid with a face 
like a flower, and a heart like a live coal. Never 
averse to a maid, she bewitched me, by gad!” 

“Don’t censure yourself too severely. ‘Bright 
angels have fallen ere thy time.’ Any complica¬ 
tions?” 

“None, thank heaven, other than the plighting 



THE STRANGEST THING 


185 


of eternal troth, a solemn promise that I HI wed 
none other, and an equally solemn vow that I will 
return to her.” 

“All of which weighs on a man when he fain 
would be on with the new love. What are you 
going to do?” 

“Wed Dorothy, by God’s grace!” 

“What will your bar-maid do?” 

Brentley twisted in his saddle and shrugged his 
shoulders. 

“ Why ask such devilishly unpleasant questions, 
comrade? She’s the sort that would put six inches 
of steel between your ribs, then laugh to see you 
die. She’s a lovely savage, I tell you.” 

‘ ‘ There’s an old saw about he who dances must 
pay the fiddler.” 

“Cold comfort, but very true, and I’ve never 
whined yet when the time for a settlement came. ’ ’ 

“It’s an awkward debt when the fiddler is 
Fate,” philosophised Gaston, blowing a thin 
column of smoke toward his horse’s ears. 

Then for a time they rode in silence. Far ahead 
the bent figure of their guide preceded them. 
Presently Saul, lifting his head from a none too 
pleasant revery, saw Uncle Bacchus stop, get off 
his horse, and begin to take down a section of 
rail fence. When they had come up: 

“This is the field we are to cross?” he asked. 

“Yessuh—Marse Pottle’s fiel’. T’other road 
ober yondah tek us to de cliff regums. After while 
we hab to leab hit en go t’roo de wil’ wil’erness 
fo’ ’bout a mile.” 

They passed through the gap, which Uncle 
Bacchus carefully rebuilt, then cantered across 
the grazing meadow. Away off to one side a mag¬ 
nificent drove of horses was cropping the young 
grass. They lifted their heads and looked at the 



186 


A BLUEGRASS CAVALIER 


intruders, a statuesque and impressive group, 
while one of them neighed shrilly. 

A very few minutes sufficed to bring our ad¬ 
venturers to the second road, and here Uncle 
Bacchus suggested they proceed faster, as it was 
his earnest desire to he well away from the 
“regums” before darkness began to fall. To this 
the young men gladly consented, for they were 
eager to begin their search. 

With the increased speed of their horses con¬ 
versation lagged, and stopped altogether after a 
few miles had been covered. They met very few 
people on the journey, and such as they encoun¬ 
tered merely hailed them as they passed. One, 
in a cart, a red-cheeked girl of the yeoman class, 
turned to look again at the chalk-faced Chavannes, 
with his queer frilled shirt and dark velvet coat. 
Uncle Bacchus maintained the pace he had set at 
the beginning of the second stage of their trip 
and, uphill and down, the horses went forward 
with a tireless stride. Once at a certain speed, 
Saul discovered that his mount needed no urging 
to keep it, and was thus convinced of the absolute 
truth of Captain Pembroke’s words regarding the 
animal’s stamina. 

Their general trend had been in an easterly 
direction, and when at last Uncle Bacchus wheeled 
into a by-road and headed southeast, the friends 
knew they were nearing their destination. On 
the horizon toward which they sped the earth for¬ 
mation lifted and was thickly wooded. Nearer, 
the ground was rugged and broken, with many 
pine- and cedar-dotted hillocks, barren and rain- 
washed. They were riding into forsaken coun¬ 
try, and they became conscious of an atmosphere 
of loneliness. They felt inclined to whisper, 
rather than speak aloud, for the effect of the place 
was for silence. Saul looked at Gaston. The 



THE STRANGEST THING 


187 


young Frenchman’s face was grave, and bore a 
strange expression of heart-hunger and sternness 
blended. His mouth was tight and his eyes merci¬ 
less, and had they been standing together Saul 
would have put an arm around his shoulders and 
spoken some cheering word. For—burned into 
Gaston’s consciousness—was the supreme fact 
that somewhere near was his heart’s idol and 
mate; that she was in distress, perhaps in pain, 
and was longing and praying for deliverance. 

After a time they reached fenceless territory, 
for the ground was not worthy of preservation, 
and here Uncle Bacchus reined up. 

“Gem’n, we’re heah!” he announced solemnly, 
and waved one bony hand ahead. 

Neither replied for a moment, but sat their 
horses and surveyed the prospect. It was for¬ 
bidding and discouraging enough, but it did not 
daunt them. They had come forth with an iron- 
willed purpose, and that purpose had to be accom¬ 
plished. 

u How did you stand it, my Scotchman?” asked 
Saul, suddenly, smiling down at the great collie 
which sat with mouth agape and slender pink 
tongue dripping water. The dog cast a quick 
glance up at his master and endeavored to wag his 
tail, with indifferent success. 

Uncle Bacchus was eyeing the young men 
suspiciously. He had gone as far as he cared to 
on this expedition, and was anxious to start back. 
To his intelligence the delayed words of dismissal 
boded ill. So now he spoke again, a little louder. 

‘‘ Gem ’n, we ’re heah! ’ ’ 

“All right, Uncle Bacchus,” replied Saul; “but 
where ’re the cliffs ? ’ ’ 

“Yondah dey is! Gawd, man, you’s right in 
de middle ob ’em!” 

He stretched a long arm south. 



188 


A BLUEGRASS CAVALIER 


4 ‘Very well. I guess we can find them now.” 

“Yessuh, marse, yessuh! You sho kin! Yon- 
dah dey is. You’s ready to drap ober ’em mos’ 
right now! ’N’ heah’s de grub ’n’ truck. I’ll 
fetch you mo ’ to-morrer. ’’ 

“Good. One of us will be here to receive it 
exactly at noon. Tell the folks we hope to be 
home very soon.” 

“Yessuh, I sho tell ’em.” He rolled his eyes 
fearsomely, and continued: “Whah you gem’n 
gwine spen’ dis night V 9 

i ‘ Oh, somewhere in the woods yonder, near the 
river . 9 9 

Uncle Bacchus shivered visibly. 

“Dey’s ha’nts dah, ’n’ wull-o ’wusps ! 9 9 

“What does he mean?” asked Gaston, noting 
the old darky’s perturbation, but totally unable to 
understand his speech. 

“He thinks the cliffs are haunted, and fears 
for our safety,” explained Saul. To Uncle 
Bacchus: “We’re not afraid, old gentleman, and 
we’re both armed.” 

“You can’t kill ha’nts!” asserted the negro, 
shaking his head, “ ’n’ wull-o’-wusps leads you 
in de ribber. You better git ’way frum dem cliff 
regums when de night comes.” 

“We’re not afraid, I tell you, and will get along 
all right. We ’ll look for you to-morrow at noon. ’ ’ 
Turning to Gaston, “Come, my boy, let’s begin.” 

As they urged their horses toward the river the 
thud of galloping hoofs behind told them that 
Captain Pembroke’s body servant was hastening 
back to the safety of home. 

“I feel that success will come quickly,” said 
Brentley, for the look on his friend’s face had all 
at once grown fierce. “I feel it in my bones, as 
one of the niggers says at home.” 

Gaston did not smile, but he flashed back a 



THE STRANGEST THING 


189 


glance of appreciation. Quickly he thrust out his 
white, slender hand. 

“Make a pact with me, Saul. To stay till we 
find her . 91 

For a moment the two hands gripped, hard and 
fast. 

“Till we find her, Gaston, it shall be!” 

Then side by side, in silence, they rode on to 
their adventure, the great collie trailing, his 
shaggy skin slipping on his shoulders as he 
walked. 



XV 


Proceeding with the plot in a suitable manner, 
and ending, as did Chapter Eleven, with a voice 
calling in the night. 

‘ ‘ Oh, Saul, look! Such grandeur! ’ ’ 

It was an hour later, and they stood near the 
edge of the northern line of cliff, their horses 
tethered a few yards away, and gazed down into 
the immense gulf of air at the bottom of which 
was the river. It was truly a prodigious spec¬ 
tacle, conducive to wonder and thought alike, and 
the sensitive mind of the Frenchman had at once 
grasped the marvel, and brought forth an in¬ 
voluntary exclamation. 

“Yesterday,” he continued, never taking his 
eyes from the stupendous vista presented east¬ 
ward, “yesterday I rode all day long through the 
fairest, level land. Meadows upon meadows, and 
pleasant little swells, and musical brooklets, with 
herds innumerable. And to-day—this! ’* 

Brentley smiled. 

“And to-morrow it might be something just as 
different, did you post in another direction. Ours 
is a marvelous state, even to us who know it.” 

“But this—this!” 

Chavannes swept his arm out impetuously. 

“More marvelous than the Pyrenees or the 
Alps. Here are mountains upthrust by the cool¬ 
ing earth, perhaps in a month, perhaps in an 
hour. And how long has it taken water to cut 
that channel through the living stone, down those 
scores of feet—maybe an inch in a thousand 
years ?’ 9 


190 


A VOICE IN THE NIGHT 


191 


“I had never thought of it that way,” was the 
grave reply. 

“It took not ages, but aeons on top of aeons. 
And the work goes on.’ ’ 

“We never grasp the real mystery and beauty 
of that with which we are familiar,” returned 
Brentley. “Some one must come to whom it is 
new to discover a portion of its true charm. ’ ’ 

Chavannes sighed. 

“Shall we not begin?” he asked, his voice 
touched with awe now that he was face to face 
with the Herculean task. 

“We must eat first, and then establish some 
sort of working base,” the more practical Saul 
declared. “It is past noon; we have ridden hard, 
and must have nourishment to give us strength. 
Uncle Bacchus said we were in the middle of the 
cliff country, and I almost think he was right. 
They certainly stretch away in either direction 
as far as one can see. Come—it won’t be long 
before we make a start. ’ ’ 

He led the way back to the horses, and took 
from his saddle the bundle of provisions which 
Uncle Bacchus had transferred to him at parting. 
Then, sitting upon the ground under a small oak, 
the friends ate, tossing to the watchful and ready 
Roderick Dhu stray portions now and then. 

“We’ll have to make some arrangements for 
our horses,” remarked Saul, “in spite of the cap¬ 
tain’s assertion that mine could live on moss. 
That’s decidedly too scanty a diet for one of his 
build.” 

“Why not have the black man bring food for 
them when he brings ours?” quietly asked 
Chavannes. 

“What a dunce lam!” laughed the other. “Of 
course he can swing a small sack of corn across 



192 


A BLUEGRASS CAVALIER 


his saddle as easy as not. Well, that leaves us 
unprovided for.” 

4 ‘In what way?” 

“Shelter. I love the open. A blanket around 
me and a coat under my head makes a royal rest¬ 
ing-place, but—” 

“Do you suppose me a weakling because I am 
slender and wear lace on my shirt?” 

The query was accompanied by a shadowy 
smile. 

“ Why, no. But the idea of your sleeping out 
on the bare earth under the stars would never 
have occurred to me. ’ ’ 

“I have done it often— in Normandy. The 
climate there may be more mild, but it’s share and 
share alike with us until our quest is done.’ 9 

“But a shelter of some sort is almost neces¬ 
sary,” insisted Saul. “It may rain, and some¬ 
times there would be need for a fire which one 
wouldn’t care to have seen.’ 9 

Chavannes remained silent, his jaws moving 
mechanically over a morsel of food. He was 
lunching lightly. 

‘ ‘ There ought to be a deserted shack somewhere 
hereabout,” pursued Brentley. “We’ll probably 
run upon a hut or cabin in our wanderings, and 
when we do we’ll occupy it for a base. . . . 

Why don’t you eat something, man ? ’ ’ 

Gaston, ignoring the question, placed a palm 
upon the ground and leaned forward. 

“Do you suppose he knows we’re out here?” 

“Who?” 

“The Bearded Devil. I heard what you said 
to him in the tap-room, although I knew you did 
not want me to, and I saw his subsequent actions. 
Don’t you believe he abducted Margot and holds 
her a prisoner in this wilderness?” 



A VOICE IN THE NIGHT 


193 


The speaker’s face had grown hard, and his 
eyes flamed. 

Saul did not hesitate. 

“I practically know it.” 

With a kind of hiss in his breath Gaston sat 
erect and swiftly drew two weapons from his 
person. He did this so quickly his companion 
could not tell where they had been secreted. 

One was a beautiful pistol with an extremely 
long barrel and pearl-inlaid handle. The other 
was a Spanish stiletto with an eight-inch blade, a 
handle of some dark, carved wood, and a hilt of 
wrought brass. 

44 I have a premonition that the Bearded Devil 
will die before all is done, friend Saul, and either 
of these two things can kill him. If I am right, 
and the time comes when it’s his life or ours, as 
I am sure it will—give him to me. ’ ’ 

There was no evident anger or vindictiveness 
in the voice that spoke these words of such sin¬ 
ister import. The clouded face had cleared, too, 
and the chevalier looked as one who would have 
been far more in his sphere bowing over a lady’s 
hand in a handsomely equipped salon, than in 
meeting a fierce-visaged giant of a bandit in dead¬ 
ly combat. 

44 Would you actually engage him—alone?” 
burst from Saul’s astonished lips. 

4 ‘Yes, and preferably with this.” 

He picked up the stiletto and balanced it on his 
palm. 

4 4 If you ever come within the sweep of his arms 
you are lost. Better shoot, and let him do the 
same. ’ ’ 

4 4 You have never seen me in action, friend, but 
I have trained—with this. ’ ’ 

His eyes fell to the slim steel blade, and that 
moment there rushed to Saul’s mind the vision of 



194 


A BLUEGRASS CAVALIER 


the night before, when his friend had hurried to 
his assistance armed with this same weapon. 
Chavannes’ voice went on, in a musing way, free 
from any boasting strain, and as he talked his eyes 
were on the needle-sharp blade. 

“I have trained and I have succeeded. They 
called me 4 The Cat,’ because I was lithe and 
always kept my feet. This gentle manner and 
this laced linen scented with perfume cover a 
frame of steel. I like daintiness, but I am a man, 
and some day you will see. Eeel.” 

He leaned over and thrust out his arm. Saul 
grasped the biceps with his fingers, and though 
the arm was not flexed it was as though he held a 
bar of iron. 

44 Phew! You’ve had me fooled, young man! 
I didn’t exactly think you a dandy, but I did think 
perhaps you were soft.” 

44 Then he is mine—the Big One? Remember, 
he has stolen my very heart from my bosom?” 

44 If it comes to that, he is yours.” 

44 You are a very sweet friend to humor me thus. 
I thank you. Do you think he knows we are 
here?” 

44 Not yet, but he will learn it.” 

4 4 Then—” 

4 4 God knows. ’ ’ 

4 4 1 know! ’ ’ cried Chavannes. 

4 4 What?” 

4 4 We’ll trail him and find the hidden way!” 

44 A good idea, but he is shrewd, and I suspect 
would come by night. Let us depend on our own 
efforts first, and I suggest now we go west, being 
careful to watch especially the bends in the 
stream. Remember, I was sleeping and at the 
mercy of the current. I must have swung very 
close to have caught the tossed-out message in 
the boat.” 



A VOICE IN THE NIGHT 


195 


“Had yon only been awake!” mnrmnred Gas¬ 
ton, and they went forward. 

Creepers, low-growing bushes, and tangled, 
wind-tied grass made progress slow. These ob¬ 
structions extended clear up to the lip of the 
gorge. Mingled with them were trees of many 
kinds, but none of any great height, for the soil 
was too thin to promote a sturdy growth. Of 
course the opposite side of the river was the only 
one which they could watch, and they scanned the 
huge gray and brown surface intently as they 
laboriously trudged along. As it chanced, the 
river flowed straight for nearly half a mile from 
their starting point, and while some crevices were 
discovered along this part of the journey, they 
were all horizontal openings and consequently 
gave the searchers no possible cause for hope. 
Once a long, dark scar, vertically placed, brought 
a low cry from Gaston’s lips, but as they eagerly 
drew opposite they found it to be only a stain 
caused by the trickle of water from above. 

“The first bend is near,” said Saul, pointing 
briefly, and again they set out, Brentley breaking 
the way. 

But the cliff, opposite which they presently 
stood, was absolutely void of any cheering sign. 
The westering sun struck upon its limestone front 
and gave it a sort of majestic beauty, but to 
Chavannes it was only a symbol of mercilessness; 
a silent enemy holding somewhere within its stony 
heart the girl he loved. 

For another hour they went forward, each silent 
for the most part, because conversation was diffi¬ 
cult in connection with their efforts; and because 
of the solemnity of their undertaking, they were 
not inclined to* speech. It was Saul who called 
a halt. 

“Let’s go back,” he said. It’ll be near sun- 



196 


A BLUEGRASS CAVALIER 


down when we get there, and I believe we are 
working the wrong side of the river.” 

“Why*” 

4 6 Because the cliffs we have been studying have 
uniformly presented an almost solid front. But 
we know there are crevices and caverns some¬ 
where ; therefore they must be on this side. ’ ’ The 
speaker continued as they faced about and began 
their return. “ There are breaks in these walls, 
as you have noticed, and to-morrow morning we 
will make a crossing and spy out these above 
which we walk. ’ ’ He smiled at the slender, silent 
figure walking by his side with springy tread. 
“Don’t feel discouraged, Gaston. We have bare¬ 
ly begun, you know. ’ ’ 

“It is the delay which makes the inward fret, 
although I know we ’re doing all we can. ’ ’ 

‘ ‘ I feel that to-morrow will bring developments. 
To-night we must get all the rest possible.” 

They found the horses where they had left 
them, with the collie on guard. He arose at their 
approach and greeted them with signs of delight. 
The sun was swathed in crimson, fleecy clouds, 
and hung just above the horizon. 

“This spot is high and dry. Why not camp 
here to-night?” queried Chavannes. 

“We will. But the horses must have water. 
Let’s ride back to the little stream we crossed a 
half-mile away and let them drink. I think there 
is some grass there, too, and they can eat a bite 
before nightfall.” 

Once more they were in the saddle, and during 
the brief trip no word was spoken. The beasts 
seemed grateful for the water, but when permis¬ 
sion was given them to crop the wiry grass which 
grew in sickly fashion along the watercourse, they 
sniffed at it and held their heads up. 

“ Don’t blame them! ’ ’ muttered Saul. 4 ‘ That’s 



A VOICE IN THE NIGHT 


197 


mighty poor provender when they’re accustomed 
to bluegrass, corn and oats.” 

Upon their return they took a slightly different 
route, and chanced upon the very thing they had 
hoped for—an empty log cabin. Chavannes’ keen 
eyes saw it first, a square bulk of gloom between 
the clustering trees. 

4 4 Look you, Saul! A habitation ? ’ ’ 

44 Let us hope it will prove such for us.” 

They pressed forward and soon dismounted in 
front of the lonely hut. Its plank door seemed 
shut tight, its clapboarded roof was twisted and 
bore patches of moss, the chinking of mud and 
stones had fallen partly out, and the log doorstep 
was nearly rotted away. 

44 There’s no doubt it’s deserted, mon ami” 
Saul remarked, his quick eyes taking in these evi¬ 
dences of neglect and decay. 4 4 The question now 
is if it is at all fit for occupancy. Let’s inves¬ 
tigate. ’ ’ 

As they approached Gaston uttered a sudden 
exclamation, grasped Saul’s arm and pointed 
downward. 

4 4 Hoof-prints, by the Lord!” Brentley’s voice 
was tense. 4 4 They’re fresh, too. Others have 
been here before us, and recently. . . . What 

do you make’of it?” 

But the Frenchman, in a stooping posture, was 
creeping toward the closed door. . One of his 
hands was thrust in this velvet jacket at the 
waist. His gaze was bent upon the ground. 

Saul drew his revolver and cautiously ad¬ 
vanced. Roderick Dhu made no sign whatever, 
and from this fact his master believed no enemy 
was near. 

Directly Gaston sank to one knee, and instantly 
Saul was peering over his shoulder. 

44 A human foot-print, and a big one!” 



198 


A BLUEGRASS CAVALIER 


Chavannes arose. 

“The Bearded Devil made it!” 

“How do you know?” 

“Intuition—perhaps. But you shall see.” 

“We’re on the verge of success, comrade! 
Now let’s have a look inside before the light 
fails.” 

But the door was locked. A quick circuit of the 
shack revealed one small window, which was also 
secured, and draped with some dark cloth within 
to obstruct the vision. When Saul, who had tar¬ 
ried at the window in the vain hope of forcing it, 
came around to the door again, it was to find the 
ready-minded Frenchman with his finger at the 
key-hole. 

“Produce your key to the room at the inn, 
friend Saul,” he said, calmly. “I have an idea.” 

“You certainly have a brain,” and from his 
trousers pocket Brentley produced the ponderous 
piece of brass. 

It entered easily, and at the second effort threw 
the bolt. 

“Black as the bottomless pit!” Chavannes took 
one step forward as the door creakingly opened. 
“A lucifer, Saul. There must be something here 
for us to see.” 

Patiently they waited for the fuming, fizzing 
yellow nodule to turn to flame, but at last the 
wooden splinter caught and Brentley held aloft 
the tiny blaze. Little was revealed/ The room 
had a rough floor of thick oak slabs; there was no 
furniture. Just across from them a huge black 
fireplace yawned, cold and ashless. As they 
turned their eyes here and there they discerned 
some formless outlines in a corner. The holder 
of the match hastily lit another, and the two bent 
to examine whatever might be piled there. It 
proved to be food. There was a whole ham, 




A VOICE IN THE NIGHT 


199 


cooked; two fowls, likewise ready to be eaten; a 
quantity of cornbread, and two vast stone jars, 
one holding milk and the other water. The 
burned-out match bit Saul’s finger. He dropped 
it and they went outside, locking the door. Gas¬ 
ton’s hand fell to Saul’s shoulder. 

“What do you make of it?” 

“We’ve stumbled upon Mack Leek’s store¬ 
house. Here’s where he caches his foodstuff un¬ 
til he is ready to convey it to Miss LaTour and 
her keeper. ’ ’ 

“Exactly.” 

“Manifestly we cannot make his supply house 
our working base. We’d better go on back to 
the dry spot under the trees. It’s just beyond 
that cedar thicket yonder.” 

“Isn’t this discovery valuable?” asked Chav- 
annes, as they mounted. 

“Invaluable! my boy. It virtually places the 
key to the situation in our hands.” 

“And we can watch—and when he comes, fol¬ 
low?” 

“Yes. . . . But the devil of it is he knows, 
or will know quickly, that we are here. Then, too, 
I dislike the fresh tracks we found. It may be he 
took them food this very afternoon, and you may 
be sure he provides enough each visit to last a 
week at least. We’ll hold to our discovery as a 
possible way out, but in the meantime we’ve got 
to work. And in the morning we’d better move 
our camp a little farther away. If Leek were to 
discover our proximity to-day’s find would go 
for naught.” 

The Frenchman said nothing. Ten minutes ago 
his hopes were zenith-high; it had seemed then 
that a few hours, at the most, would see the end 
of the quest. But before the matter-of-fact rea¬ 
soning of his friend the vision faded—and the 



200 


A BLUEGRASS CAVALIER 


drab, dreary commonplace rose up again. His 
heart weighed in his breast. With sagged shoul¬ 
ders and head hung forward he rode in silence 
until they came to the spot where they were to 
pass the night. 

Here the horses were unsaddled and unbridled 
and secured by halter ropes. Two blankets and 
two pillows were a part of the equipment for each 
man sent out by Miss Mehitabel, and these were 
speedily unrolled. 

“I don’t think it cold enough for a fire, and it 
would be risky,” observed Saul, sitting cross- 
legged and drawing out pipe and pouch. “A 
hundred puffs, and I turn in.” 

Gaston absently rolled a cigarette, gazing 
toward the east, where the sky held the faintest 
silver tinge. He lighted from the bowl of Saul’s 
pipe, then they sat and smoked stolidly, like 
Indians. Chavannes finished first. 

“Good night, and good luck to-morrow!” He 
flicked a dull red spark toward the river, and 
lying down, pulled a blanket over his shoulder. 

“Fair dreams, comrade, and a blessing on our 
work,” returned Brent-ley. 

And soon thereafter, nicotine accentuating the 
slumber-call, he rolled up by the side of his new¬ 
found friend and was presently asleep. Roderick 
Dhu, crouched at ease nearer the horses, cast a 
slanting glance at the two swathed forms. All 
seeming well to his faithful mind, he gently 
dropped his head to his paws. 

But all was not well. 

Gaston’s heart was flaming with love and hate 
and longing and anger. The longer he lay and 
thought of what might have been, and what was, 
the more intense his feelings became. She was 
near-very, very near! She must be! Perhaps 
within half a mile, perhaps less. Down beneath 



A VOICE IN THE NIGHT 


201 


the very ground upon which he lay might be the 
hidden grotto where she languished. The thought 
was intolerable. He could scarcely endure the 
white-hot pain it brought to his mind. For an 
hour or more he wrestled with himself, knowing 
that he was helpless as an infant, yet resenting 
this same helplessness with the dumb ferocity of 
a tiger. At last he cast the blanket from him and 
stood up. Saul was sleeping as though he lay in 
bed. The moonlight was very brilliant and 
lighted the surroundings mistily. Gaston all at 
once became aware that his lips were softly speak¬ 
ing the name of his lost one. Would she hear if 
he called, and would she answer? She must be 
close—within the hailing of his voice. . But it 
would not do to waken Brentley. Noiselessly 
Chavannes moved away, going eastward. There 
was enough light for him to find his way without 
colliding with any of the numerous natural ob¬ 
stacles. When^ as nearly as he could judge, a 
quarter of a mile had been covered, he began call¬ 
ing his sweetheart. 

4 4 Margot! Margot! ’ ’ 

Tenderly, beseechingly, he sent the cry out into 
the still night, into spaces which never before had 
heard that name brought from a foreign clime. 
4 4 Margot! Margot! ’ ’ Over and over, as he went 
forward, now stopping to listen for any faint re¬ 
turning hail, now struggling on to another point 
to call again : 4 4 Margot! Margot! ’ ’ 

And Margot heard and would have answered, 
as we have seen, but could not. 

When, an hour or so before dawn, he came 
soft-footed back to his blanket, the yellow eye of 
the collie noted his approach, though the French¬ 
man did not know it. 



XVI 


Bidding the gentle reader hack to the inn of 
The Leaning Stump, and setting doivn faithfully 
a most interesting dialogue between the master 
thereof and another, who was a saddler and 
preacher in one . 

Cadwallader Hull leaned in the low doorway of 
his public and blinked lazily at the sinking sun. 
His round face bore a look of bovine placidness, 
and to further complete the comparison it might 
be stated that his jaw moved with a slow, rotary 
motion. Now and then a stream of fluid tobacco 
was emitted from his heavy, fleshy lips. After 
standing thus a long time the vacant expression, 
by imperceptible gradations, became one of grati¬ 
fication. Smoothing the white apron over his pro¬ 
digious paunch, he spoke. 

“I fair won out with the boys last night, Noey. 
You should V been here an’ saw their bills gape, 
like to crazy turkey-chicks in a shower. I’ve 
argyed an’ argyed/but las’ night I nailed the 
argyment down an’ clinched it. I did, or I’m a 
common liar!” 

The motley-clad, attenuated person thus ad¬ 
dressed was lolling on the great stump which 
gave the inn its name, absently chewing an oat- 
straw which he had picked from the surface of 
the stump before occupying it. 

“What sort of an argument, Master Hull? 
You know it’s your favorite pastime when you 
can get some one to go against you.” 

“As to who’s the best known man in these 
202 


THE LEANING STUMP 


203 


parts. I’ve held as I was, bein’ along in years 
an’ a public man, but others have said Mr. This 
or Mr. That. But las’ night, bless you, when 
they’s all settin’ ’roun’ enjoyin’ their rum an’ 
stout, I brings up the subjec’ a-purpose. An’ 
when things ’s gittin’ warm I ups an’ tells ’em 
’bout the young stranger from way upstate, 
a-walkin’ in this very door that very mornin’ an’ 
a-slappin’ bis brass on the bar an’ callin’ me 
Master Hull—same as he’d knowed me twenty 
year. That floored ’em!” 

“I reckon,” agreed Mr. Mole, and continued to 
chew bis straw. 

“I say I wish’t you could ’a’ seen it!” re¬ 
peated Cadwallader Hull, sluing bis barrel-like 
body around with an effort to stare at bis unen- 
tbusiastic auditor. 

“I foregathered at the Limping Dog last 
night,” Noey deigned to explain. 

Master Hull bridled. 

u An’ ain’t my liquor whut it should be, that 
you go traipsin’ off to little Manse Higbee’s?” 

‘‘Your liquor sent me there, friend. Had I been 
sober I never would have pranced so far just for 
the pleasure of weaving back. ’ ’ 

“Whuffs for’ard at the post-house, parson, 
anyway? Any comin’s an’ goin’s, an’ any 
news?” Then, glancing up and down the road, 
across it and over bis shoulder, be whispered be¬ 
hind bis band: “Any word o’ the los’ gal?” 

Noey leisurely turned a red-veined eye at his 
interlocutor, and said, with half a leer: 

“I’m sober—disgracefully sober. I mind my¬ 
self of an overstuffed buzzard, moping on a limb. 
You want news? There can be no news when the 
brain is dull; or, should it come, its flavor would 
be lost. Fetch me, good Boniface, a heaping 
measure of my favorite beverage; serve it as I 



204 A BLUEGRASS CAVALIER 


sit; and within a half-score minutes my tongue 
will loose and run.” 

“You be welcome to the stout, but call me no 
names!” And Master Hull waddled within on 
his errand. 

The preacher drank the liquor which was 
brought him in one big gulp, ran his tongue about 
his lips as though to secure the last taste pos¬ 
sible, then smiled benignantly. 

“When all’s said and done, it’s the best friend 
a man can have,” he averred. “We have ample 
authority. Didst ever study Holy Writ, my cor¬ 
pulent friend?” 

1 i It’s of the news I want to hear. A man drinks 
or he don’t an’ that’s all there is to that. You 
promised news. ’ ’ 

“Did I? . Within a half-score minutes, was it 
not? And it yet is scarcely one. But you are a 
good fellow if you do take all my coin, and I’ll 
tell you. Two strangers came to the Limping 
Dog last night, each seeking lodging. ’ ’ 

Master Hull thrust his puffy hands under his 
apron and hefted at his trousers’ band. It was 
his characteristic anticipatory gesture. 

“Together, men or women, old or young?” 

“Men, young men, one at a time. The first 
rolled in with Deef Dick; a slim, white-faced, 
black-haired, dandified-looking fellow who seemed 
foreign. The other came later, with a stick and 
bundle and a dog at his heels nearly as big as 
Mordecai Fode’s Paddyfoot. He was upstand¬ 
ing, this last one, husky as you’d find in a day’s 
journey and with a smile like the daybreak.” 

“Him as come las’ was tall, vou sav?” 

“Aye.” 

“An’ broad?” 

“Aye.” 

“He wore a cap, did he?” 



THE LEANING STUMP 


205 


“A cap he wore, till he doffed it with royal 
grace to Mistress Moll and begged her in fair 
words for a bed in which to lie.” 

“ ’Tis my young gentleman, or I’m a common 
liar! ’ ’ burst out Master Hull. ‘ 4 Him it was that 
knew me! He come to the store in a wag’n along¬ 
side o’ Cap hi Pembroke’s gal; him an’ his big 
yaller-white dog, an’ while the gal bartered he 
took his ale.” 

‘ ‘ It must be the same. ’ ’ 

“But who be they, Noey man, an’ whut their 
business?” 

1 i The first one gave his name to Moll, and where 
he’s from. The name I did not catch, but it had 
a French sound.” 

“And his home?” 

Mr. Mole yawned and scratched his stubble- 
covered chin. 

“D’you reckon you’re safe with a secret, Mas¬ 
ter Hull?” 

This was more than the fat tavern keeper could 
accept calmly. He waddled out to the stump, and 
half squatting before the figure perched upon it, 
with hands on knees, he retorted with some heat. 

“D’ye take me fur a loose-tongued wench who 
blabs whut she hears the minute she can git a 
year to listen? I say, where was his home?” 

“He said it was Philadelphia,” returned Noey, 
carelessly. 

“An’ is that your precious secret!” snorted 
the other, getting erect with a sudden jerk. 

“Your head should have been filled with brains 
instead of black mud. Sir Thickwit. Philadelphia 
is the home of the missing girl.” 

Now a pudgy finger flew up and lay beside a 
stubby nose, and Cadwallader opened his little 
eyes as wide as he could and pursed his fleshy 
lips in a whistle of surprise. After a moment: 



206 


A BLUEGRASS CAVALIER 


“There’ll be a stir cornin’!” he declared, 
gravely important. “Mark me! It’s her lover, 
Noey, an’ lovers is hell when they git fair 
started!” 

“I do believe you’re waking up. But there’s 
more yet.” 

Master Hull almost danced in his eagerness. 

“Why, Noey, bless me! I’m glad you went to 
little Manse’s. He didn’t show up, did he!” 

“If you mean Mack Leek—no. But the foreign- 
looking man fetched a trunk with him.” 

“ To be sure. All gentlemen travel with trunks 
when they go in style. ’ ’ 

“This was not so big, but ’twas bound with 
brass bands, close; not a hand’s breadth apart.” 

‘ ‘ A likely trunk to the eye; I see it now. ’ ’ 

“Deef Dick shouldered it in from the stage, for 
I saw it all, and when he let it to the floor it 
settled there like a millstone.” 

“Dick’s a gi’nt, if he ain’t over-big.” 

“And when the gentleman had gone upstairs 
and sent word back for his belongings, Moll told 
Manse to take the trunk up. ’ ’ 

“Well!” 

“When he laid hold of it he couldn’t more than 
budge one end.” 

“Manse’s had the ager, an’ it’s left him 
chigger-sucked like, an’ measly.” 

“Then Moll railed out at me and ordered me to 
lend a hand, but I was far gone in my cups and 
laughed at her, and told her I had a rupture.” 

“Whut then, Noey?” 

“Why, the other stranger came to the rescue, 
and between him and Manse they lugged the trunk 
away. ’ ’ 

“That ’pears to be a long story ’bout nothin’ 
more’n a trunk,” opined Master Hull. 

“Again I must deplore the fact that your head 



THE LEANING STUMP 


207 


is all solid instead of having within it the natural 
cavities and fillings. So I will explain. A ran¬ 
som is demanded for the release of the abducted 
girl. ^ The news is sent post-haste to Philadelphia, 
and in due time her lover arrives with a small 
trunk which it takes two men to carry upstairs. 
Is it plain now, or shall I borrow an auger from 
Hefty Will’s shop yonder and bore into your 
noggin?” 

Cadwallader threw wide his pudgy palms. 

“Gold!” he hissed, his face shining with ex¬ 
citement and alarm. “D’ye mean to say that, 
Noey—that he’s got the ransom with him?” 

“So it seemed to my besodden intellect last 
evening, and I’ve had no cause to change my 
opinion to-day .’ 1 

Master Hull edged up to the stump, and lean¬ 
ing his bulk upon it, whispered confidentially: 

“How much did they want?” 

“Who?” 

44 Them as took her. ’ 9 

“Why don’t you say Mack Leek and his gang?” 

“Hush, man! Hush! They’d burn me out an’ 
beat me up! A man who’s got his livin ’ to make 
must be careful of his words. How much, Noey?” 

“I heard it was ten thousand dollars.” 

Cadwallader gasped audibly, and his fingers 
began to pluck as though at invisible coins. 

‘ 4 Gold! Gold! ” he muttered. 44 Enough to buy 
a big slice o’ this county. They ain’t no gal 
wuth it!” 

Noey Mole turned an unfathomable look upon 
him. 

“I knew one once who was worth that to me, 
and more.” 

Master Hull grinned vacuously. 

44 That’s liquor talkin’ with your tongue. But 
you alius was a qu’r chap an’ give to crazy say- 



208 


A BLUEGRASS CAVALIER 


in’s and doin’s. . . . Ten thousan’! There 

never was a gal wuth half of it! ’ ’ 

The man on the stump forbore to pursue the 
argument. He sat with hugged knees updrawn 
toward his chin, his gaze going out to a rarely 
beautiful sunset. Whether it was some subtle in¬ 
fluence from the dying day, whether the approach¬ 
ing twilight wrought deception, or whether some 
fugitive memory of twenty years before gave him 
a moment’s grace—who can tell? But the habit¬ 
ual look of cynical, good-natured mockery had 
vanished, and in its place shone for a fleeting 
portion of time a yearning pathos. It lasted only 
a breath, this inner rebirth which was destined 
to instant death; then the lip curled again, one 
eyebrow arched, and with a sigh the saddler 
turned his head to where his companion was still 
standing babbling to himself of gold and girls. 

“Hark ye, friend!” he said, “if you are a 
wise tavern keeper you’ll hold this news between 
your teeth until the whole thing is settled. ’ ’ 
“Trust me. I’ve a livin’ to make. But never, 
since Washington whipped the British, have I 
heerd sich a yarn!” 

“The whole countryside will be a-hum directly. 
It takes no Scripture prophet to foresee that. . 

. . But I grow dry, good Master Hull. Be 

gracious enough to fetch me another portion of 
liquid cheer, generous, like the first, and I’ll ask 
you a question in payment therefor.” 

Cadwallader spread his hands on either side of 
his bulging front, and ceasing his monologue, 
gazed with head aside at the figure which sat and 
eyed him knowingly, while something between a 
smile and a leer made his mouth grotesque. 

“Is there more to foller?” he demanded, sus¬ 
piciously; “or are you tryin’ to beat me out o’ 



THE LEANING STUMP 


209 


my good stout? If you bain’t a rogue, Noey, then 
rogues is all hung! ’ ’ 

“A question for one good swallow,” was the 
imperturable reply. “And hurry, for my throat 
bakes while you stand there like an oaf.” 

“An’ it be only a joke, I’ll cuff you, Noey!” 
warned the tavern keeper, and forthwith waddled 
within shaking his round head on his fat neck. 

He reappeared quickly, for he was consumed 
with curiosity, bearing a mug which he had 
refilled. 

“Here it is. An’ be you foolin’—watch out!” 

Mr. M;ole took the mug and drained it as eager¬ 
ly as though it held ambrosia. 

“A thousand thanks, kind sir! ’Tis sweet to 
sit thus enthroned and have a cup-bearer bring 
your liquor to your knee! The draft was excel¬ 
lent, but don’t chalk it up, for I pay for it forth¬ 
with. Answer me, Master Hull; hast seen the 
beldame known as Sis Tomperby within the last 
ten days?” 

But instead of making reply, Master Hull 
swelled up like a toad and began to sputter. 

“An’ is that the coin you would pay me in, 
you wastrel? It is a cheat you are. An’ I’ll 
chalk it heavy—aye, an’ make you pay, too, 
a-cozenin’ me out o’ my hard-bought stout wi’ 
sich fool talk! . . . Have I saw Sis Tom¬ 
perby!” 

And in his rage he spat on the ground and 
drove one fist into his other palm. 

Noey Mole chuckled, and wriggled himself into 
a more comfortable attitude. 

“I’ve already proven you a witless loon, Mas¬ 
ter Hull, and I’ll restrain my anger now, as be¬ 
comes a wise man. But if you would learn more, 
answer my question. Have you seen the bel¬ 
dame?” 



210 


A BLUEGRASS CAVALIER 


“Nay! For aught I know or keer the buzzards 
might V picked her filthy bones!” 

“Hast ever heard how, last winter, when rheu¬ 
matism gripped her and laid her bedfast, Mack 
Leek took her food and fuel?” 

“Nay,” sullenly, “ ’twas none o’ my affair. I 
’tend my business.” 

“Such was the story which was told around. 
Well, Sis Tomperby has disappeared. For ten 
days or such a matter not a soul has laid eyes on 
her. ’ ’ 

“Tame news fur a mug o’ good liquor!” pro¬ 
tested Cadwallader. “The bargain won’t hold.” 

“ ’Twill surely hold, Milord Numbskull. How 
long has it been since Deef Dick lost his lady pas¬ 
senger and threw the community in an uproar 
thereby?” 

Master Hull scratched his pate and looked at 
the sky. 

“You be a main fine man to talk aroun’ a 
subjec’, Noey,” he returned perplexedly. “I’d 
say, by an’ large, that Deef Dick los’ the gal a 
matter o’ ten or ’leven days ago.”' 

“And what did Mack Leek and his gang do 
with her?” 

The cautious Cadwallader jumped as though 
a pistol had gone off in his face, and hastily sur¬ 
veyed the perspective in every direction, turning 
completely around for this purpose. 

“Don’t talk so reckless like, man!” he urged. 
“How should I know who snatched ’er, an’ whur 
she might be?” 

“Then I’ll tell you about it. Mack took her 
from the coach and is holding her for ransom. 
Where she is hidden I cannot say, but with her 
and watching her is Sis Tomperby.” 

“Man! You run news like a sugar maple runs 
sap! You should ’a’ stuck to pre^hin’! Now 



THE LEANING STUMP 


211 


I might live to the crack o ’ doom an’ never learn 
so much. But it’s none o’ my business/’ shaking 
his head. “I’m a frien’ to all, as becomes a man 
who serves the public.” 

Mr. Mole made no reply, and presently, through 
the silence, came the clickety-clack of hoofs on the 
Cedarton road. 

“Now who can be a-ridin’ so fast from yon 
way?” wondered Master Hull, aloud. “A man 
would think the dev’l drives, or else a doctor was 
wanted main quick. ’ ’ 

He took several side steps to get an uninter¬ 
rupted view, and shading his eyes with one hand, 
stood at gaze, straddle-legged. Across the little 
bridge in the hollow below the galloping feet thun¬ 
dered, then Cadwallader exploded. 

“It’s him, by all the saints! An’ Georgey 
Snipper lopes at his heels same’s a little dog after 
a big ’n\ You"want ’o talk keerful like, Noey, 
an’ he pulls up.” 

Mr. Mole paid heed neither to this admonition 
nor the swiftly approaching riders. His face was 
turned to the west, and he was again employed 
with his half-chewed straw. 

The galloping twain indeed stopped, within a 
half-score feet of the tavern door. Leek drew his 
big horse to its haunches with an oath and glared 
at the pair before him. Mine host cringed vis¬ 
ibly before such evident might, and began to rub 
his swollen hands one over the other. Noey 
Mole’s eves had never left the salmon-barred sky 
just above the horizon, oyer which hung a dun 
canopy which was beginning to be pricked here 
and there with pinholes of white light. Perhaps 
he was dreaming. 

“A glass of something, sir, is it?” 

Meekly, and cloyed with rankest servility, the 



212 


A BLUEGRASS CAVALIER 


innkeeper’s voice arose. He made an attempt at 
an awkward bow as he spoke. 

“No!” stormed Mack Leek, curling his long 
thick beard around one hand. “Keep your stuff 
for the pigs you slop—such as that!” 

Piqued that the saddler had paid no more heed 
to his arrival than he would have given the chance 
passing of a stray dog, the bandit flung one arm 
out toward Noev as he spoke the last words. 

The man on the stump slowly turned his head 
and regarded quietly the towering figure on the 
horse. 

“You are free with your compliments this 
evening,” he said, coolly. 

“When your betters pass, sot, you ought o’ 
greet ’em properly. It make& me mad to see a 
common drunkard think he’s better than anybody 
else. ’ ’ 

“If you refer to me, you damned outlaw, I 
fling your words back in your face! And as for 
drinking, I do not hold it as great a sin as either 
murder, theft or abduction! ’ ’ 

The preacher’s posture hardly changed as he 
made this speech. But at its very beginning a 
long-barrelled pistol appeared in his hand from 
some source unknown, and he kept it levelled at 
Mack Leek’s breast as he delivered his invective. 

Poor Master Hull was on the verge of a seizure. 
He thrust his short arms over his head and shook 
his pudgy hands in the air, walking hither and 
there, groaning and muttering. 

The bearded bully seemed paralyzed with 
amazement. His jaw fell, and his countenance 
assumed a frozen stare. 

“Did I speak loudly enough 1” politely inquired 
the ragged object on the stump. 

Mack Leek came to himself with a kind of heav¬ 
ing shudder. 



THE LEANING STUMP 


213 


“You beggar! You blackguard!’’ he roared, 
shaking his fist and rising in his stirrups in his 
wrath. “I’ll have your miserable, worthless 
blood for this! Me! A gentleman an’ a trader 
an’ trainer o’ hosses, to be accused by such a 
varlet as you o’ high crimes! Master Hull’s the 
witness, an’ Georgey Snipper here’s the witness! 
I’ll get you—you rum-soaked rapscallion!” 

A sort of tired smile twisted the face of the 
man against whom he railed. 

“You may get me, and you may be gotten first, ’ ’ 
he answered, evenly. “And while witnesses are 
being called, I’ll summon you two now to testify 
that you began this dispute by wantonly heaping 
abuse upon me.” 

4 ‘ I say I ’ll get you, an ’ I keep my word! ’ ’ 

“No doubt you’ll try, but if I’m a reader of 
signs you’ll have graver matters than simply 
getting me before many suns come up—probably 
before another one rises!” 

“What do you mean?” 

Leek urged his horse forward a pace and bent 
from his saddle. 

Noey Mole laughed in his face. 

“I mean your reign of outlawry is about over 
in this county. You went one too far when you 
took the young lady.” 

With a curse Leek raised his heavy riding whip 
to strike the weak form which dared thus to bait 
him, but the pistol was pointing at his ribs and 
a forefinger had curved around the trigger. 

“Go slow, big man! I don’t want to have to 
do it. There’re others who are itching for the 
job, and I’m willing. Thank me for my candid 
warning now, and be on your way. I have heard 
Tennessee was a likely land, and if you are think¬ 
ing of leaving Kentucky soon you might try it.” 

Infuriated, but helpless, the outlaw wheeled his 



214 


A BLUEGRASS CAVALIER 


horse and faced Master Hull, who leaned, quak¬ 
ing visibly, against the corner of his inn. 

44 Hark ye, Cad!” he cried. “Did you see 
Jonathan Pembroke pass an’ repass your door this 
mornin ’ ? ” 

Now fear had so taken hold of Master Hull 
that his tongue worked poorly, but after two 
efforts he spoke. 

“I never saw him pass, Mr. Leek, but he mus’ 
’a’ done it, for I saw him a-comin’ back. P’raps 
I ’s busy with custom—” 

“What time?” 

“I go by my belly, havin’ no watch. I should 
say it’s nigh onto dinner time o’ day.” 

“Hossback or on wheels?” 

44 ’Twas a spring wag’n he druv.” 

“What’s in it?” 

“I’m not a pryin’ man, Mr. Leek, holdin’ ever’ 
man’s business to be his own, but it did ’pear to 
me he’s loaded with a chist ’r somethin ’. ’ ’ 

4 4 A trunk, say. Was’t not a trunk ? ’ ’ 

44 Now a trunk it might ’a’ been. I was here, 
in the door, an’ he passed yon, t’other side the 
middle o’ the road. There’s a fair chance ’twas 
a trunk he’s loaded with.” 

For a moment Mack Leek sat in silence, twist¬ 
ing his whiskers into a rope. Then, without a 
word of farewell or thanks, he started at a gallop 
for the ferry, his sallow-faced retainer following. 

4 4 You’re a lost man, Noey!” burst from Mas¬ 
ter Hull’s trembling lips. 

The saddler-preacher stretched his thin arms 
and yawned. 

44 Hefty Will’s working late to-day,” he ob¬ 
served, glancing down the road to where a gleam 
from the smith’s forge pierced the dusk. 



XVII 


Beginning in much mental and bodily stress 
for two young gentlemen of the tale, embracing 
a period of glory unalloyed, and culminating in 
a billet-doux of much import which came near to 
being forgotten. 

Nine o’clock the next day found our adven¬ 
turers sorely worn and apparently far from suc¬ 
cess as ever. 

Brentley had wakened first, but Chavannes re¬ 
sponded instantly to the touch upon his shoulder. 
They found a break in the cliffs soon after break¬ 
fast, a spot where a stream joined the river, and 
a flat-bottomed, stub-nosed boat of crudest manu¬ 
facture was moored near the mouth of the creek. 
Whose this boat was they did not stop to inquire, 
but hailed it as a godsend, for without it the 
passage of the river would have proved an almost 
insuperable obstacle. It was too cold to swim, 
and so swift that they feared to trust their horses 
to it. The boat was a clumsy affair, leaked a 
little, and was propelled by rough-hewn paddles, 
but the friends pounced upon it with eagerness 
and essayed a crossing. Saul was a skilled boat¬ 
man, and it was lucky indeed for them that this 
was so. Under less dextrous management the 
crazy craft would have turned bottom up more 
than once as they laboriously urged it across the 
rushing water. As it was, they were carried down 
almost a mile before they could win the other 
side. At last they made a landing at a spot sim¬ 
ilar to the one from which they had embarked, 
215 


216 


A BLUEGRASS CAVALIER 


muscle sore and blown from constant exertion, 
They found themselves in a stupendous ravine, 
with almost perpendicular sides which were 
ribbed massively by vast ledges of stone mantled 
with mosses and lichens. Vegetation was pro¬ 
fuse, both in the narrow valley through which 
the brooklet came tumbling and sparkling, and 
the gigantic, upheaved sides. After a quarter of 
an hour’s rest the friends breasted the ascent. 
It was easier than they had supposed, on ac¬ 
count of the prevalence of saplings and low 
bushes which they could grasp to draw themselves 
upward. Once on the summit of the cliff again 
their progress was much easier. For an hour or 
more they pressed on, scanning with ceaseless 
vigilance the opposite wall of stone, and at last, 
on a kind of jutting headland, they came to a halt 
as though by mutual consent. Their faces were 
grave and they were breathing hard. 

44 This is a cruel country—your Kentucky,” 
said Chavannes; 1 ‘grand, but cruel.” 

Saul turned to him with a sympathetic smile. 

“That is because she hides from you the dear¬ 
est thing your heart holds,” he replied. “But 
do not blame her, sweet friend. It is man’s in¬ 
humanity you must deplore, and not kind Nature’s 
animosity. And are there not robbers in far-off 
Normandy!” 

Gaston gave a characteristic little gesture, and 
his lips relaxed. He thrust his hand out toward 
the silent wilderness. 

“So merciless! So eternal! It seems a type 
of everlasting!” 

“It is. What you see has been for millions of 
years, and will be millions more. . . . How 

are you standing the search!” 

“I am of steel. You shall grow weary first.” 

“If I do, you will not know it. . . . Come, 



A BILLET-DOUX 


217 


there is a far sweep here. Let’s look carefully 
and well.” 

They walked out to the very brow of the head¬ 
land, and gazed long and silently across the deep 
gulf. Saul’s conjecture of the day before was 
correct. The northern cliff showed openings far 
in excess of the southern one. In places they 
ran unbroken for rods and rods, parallel with 
the strata. These lateral crevices predominated 
largely, being more natural than the others. But 
frequently vertical openings showed also, these 
in the main being narrow slits of no great length, 
offering no possible cause for investigation. 

For perhaps ten minutes the men stood silently 
looking, then Gaston’s voice quietly arose. 

‘‘Yonder, Saul; away off. See where the wall 
curves sharply?” 

He pointed as he spoke. 

Brentley came to his back and looked over his 

shoulder. , _ 

44 Yes, I see. It’s the most abrupt bend we’ve 

yet sighted.” 

44 Is there anything of interest revealed? 

Still the Frenchman’s voice was low, and 
politely inquisitive. 

Saul drew his brows down and cupped his hands 
about his eyes in concentration of vision. 

4 4 There is a possible vertical slit just at the 
sharpest part of the bend. That’s all.” 

44 Is there nothing below the opening? Some¬ 
thing that moves?” . 

Again Saul strained his gaze up the river, only 
to at last shake his head. 

4 4 You must have eyes like a gerfalcon, triend 
Gaston. I see nothing. What is it?” 

Chavannes turned with . radiant face and 
clapped his hands on his friend’s shoulders. 



218 


A BLUEGRASS CAVALIER 


‘ ‘ I believe that we have found her!’ ’ he cried. 

Saul stared wonder and skepticism. 

“Has the strain gone to your brain, mon gar- 
con, that you talk so wildly? There is nothing, 
nothing to build such a hope upon. A possible 
crevice, and even that is too far distant for cer¬ 
tainty. Be reasonable, until we can know.” 

“The eyes of love see far, my comrade.” 
Chavannes’ sensitive lips were tender and his 
tones were musical with a new emotion, or rather 
an old emotion quickened. “I feel that she is 
yonder; I know it! And my heart is singing! ’ ’ 

Brentley took the slim white hands from his 
shoulders and gripped them hard. 

“I have read of such things. Some call it in¬ 
tuition, but it is more of an undiscovered sense. 
You must indeed love this M'argot.” 

“I worship her!” was the low, simple reply, 
and the speaker bowed his head as though holi¬ 
ness were near. 

Saul put his arm around the others shoulders 
and turned him about. 

“What did you mean about something moving 
on the stone?” 

“I do not see it now.” The words were half 
evasive. “Perhaps my eager eyes imagined it. I 
seemed to catch an elusive flash of color, that was 
all. . . . Let us go,” he added, and for the 

first time since they had met Saul saw his friend’s 
pale cheeks touched with a fleeting red shadow. 

“Yes, let us go,” he repeated. “We cannot 
travel too swiftly.” 

At this point of their journey the configuration 
of the land was such that it was with the greatest 
difficulty they made progress near the cliff-edge, 
where they could keep the other side in view. 
They accordingly fell back for some distance at 
Saul’s suggestion, and his assurance that he 



A BILLET-DOUX 


219 


would know when they had gone far enough to 
again draw near the river. This arrangement 
suited Gaston poorly at first, for he wanted his 
goal constantly before him, but realizing presently 
that it made for greater speed he acquiesced 
graciously. Every few moments Gaston would 
inquire if they had not better draw in, but Saul 
would only shake his head and hold grimly on. 
It seemed "to the eager Frenchman that they had 
walked miles before his friend stopped and 
pointed up a slight acclivity toward the dry bole 
of a dead oak. 

“I marked that tree before we started,” he 
said; 44 and it is very near the spot we are seek- 
ing.’ ’ 

Chavannes dashed forward without reply, and 
it was well that Brentley came hard on his heels, 
as the hot-blooded fellow might have wrought 
ruin to their plans. As it was, Saul saw him stop 
as suddenly as though a bullet had struck him, 
toss up one arm and throw hack his head as 
though to shout. Brentley got his hand over the 
rash mouth just in time, for he, too, saw that 
which had paralyzed the hurrying feet of his 
friend, then his strong arms were forcing the 
half-crazed man down into the undergrowth. 

“Quiet! For God’s sake, quiet!” he hissed. 

< ‘ A word will betray us! Lie still, and keep hid¬ 
den! Remember the crone who guards her, who 
is doubtless bound body and soul to Mack Leek! 
Stop trembling so, man; you shake the bushes!” 

Chavannes, crouching with hungry eyes star¬ 
ing straight across the chasm to whose verge they 
had come, was indeed trembling violently from 
the force of his emotions. At Saul’s urgent 
words he reached out and got his hand, closing 
upon it with an unconscious force which made the 
larger man wince and bite his tongue to keep down 



220 


A BLUEGRASS CAVALIER 


an exclamation. And the twitching lips of the 
lover murmured constantly: 

“We’ve found her! found her! God be 
praised! She is there—there! She could hear 
me if I called! But to see her sweet face im¬ 
prisoned thus so harshly would madden me. Oh, 
rejoice with me, comrade, that the quest is over! 
And you, sweet friend, who have done it all, shall 
dwell in my heart forever along with Margot. 
Margot, my beloved!” 

“Lower yet!” warned Saul, stretched at full 
length. “Your head can be seen. We must be 
crafty as Indians. Lie out, this way, with your 
chin on your hand. Then we can look and talk 
in safety. We have just begun, you know.” 

Gaston automatically assumed the attitude 
which Brentley had taken, and there, side by side, 
parting with their fingers the glossy leaves of a 
dwarfed rhododendron, they gazed upon the 
hiding-place of Margot LaTour. 

There could be no doubt that they had located 
her prison. Directly across from them the titanic 
stone wall curved like the segment of a circle. 
Almost in the exact center of this curve, about 
twenty feet from the top, an uneven vertical fis¬ 
sure showed. It was narrow, the opening appar¬ 
ently never reaching twelve inches in width, and 
extending for something like eight or ten feet. 
The presence of this fissure alone could not have 
brought the positive conviction that she whom 
they sought was back of it. But, fluttering in the 
morning breeze which swept down the canyon, 
was a cloth of bright crimson. It was fastened 
in some unseen way to the bottom-most part of 
the crevice, and would have been invisible to any¬ 
one within. It presented a startling spectacle 
in the midst of those untenanted solitudes, silent¬ 
ly waving its bright appeal. For several minutes 



A BILLET-DOUX 


221 


no word was spoken by the adventurers. It was 
Saul who said: 

4 4 What do you make of it? It was that you saw 
on the headland back yonder.” 

44 Yes, I saw it flash once.” 

Chavannes spoke as in a dream. 

44 It is an expression of your Margot’s wit,” 
continued the other. 4 4 Doubtless that is a por¬ 
tion of her apparel which she managed to secure 
in this manner while her guard was asleep. It 
can be seen far, and shows she has not given up.” 

44 She would never give up, brave girl!” mur¬ 
mured Chavannes. 

4 4 How glad I shall be to know her. Have you 
a plan?” 

44 A plan?” 

44 Yes, for her release.” 

44 My poor head is all awhirl as yet.” 

44 ’Twill take hard thinking.” 

44 Yes; hard thinking.” 

4 4 There is but one possible method, and that is 
to find the way by which she was taken there.” 

44 We must find it.” 

4 4 Gaston?” 

44 My sweet friend.” 

4 4 It draws near to eleven, and at noon we are 
to meet Uncle Bacchus at the place of parting 
yesterday.” 

44 How can I leave this spot!” 

4 4 We can return, but that will not be necessary. 
Our business from now on must be on the other 
side.” 

Silence for a little while. Brentley turned to 
his friend, whose concentrated gaze had never 
once left the magnet which drew it—a gaze which 
reflected intensest yearning. 

44 Almost within arm’s length!” he heard the 
tense lips mutter. 



222 


A BLUEGRASS CAVALIER 


“We should be going, dear fellow/’ continued 
Saul. “I rejoice with you at our success thus 
far, but there is work ahead. ” 

“Yes—yes, you are right. But when I turn 
from yonder cleft the sun will leave the sky! Tell 
me. How far is that prison place from where 
our horses are?” 

‘ 4 It must be two miles, or nearly so. ’ ’ 

“Then are we not wrong in supposing the cabin 
to be the Bearded Devil’s storehouse?” 

“I don’t know.” Saul’s voice was perplexed. 
“It may have been the nearest available shelter, 
and two miles’ transportation on horseback is a 
small matter.” 

Chavannes pointed across the river with one 
long forefinger. 

“Have you located it well? I am relying upon 
you entirely, for you are at home, and I in a 
strange land. Can we come to it, by night or by 
day, and stand at any time above her prison, and 
know that we are there?” 

“Surely we can. There is no other bend of 
such magnitude and abruptness between here and 
the spot from which we started. And our dead 
oak tree—it is just opposite that.” 

“Ah, it is well there is one sane man at work! 
Simple and sure as your reasons are, I never 
would have thought of them. My mind is filled 
to bursting with Margot only, and I have no room 
there for anything else. It is almost as though 
a fever had gripped my brain. But you are 
calmer in your love, and mayhap do not under¬ 
stand this. ’Tis something born in sunny 
France. ’ ’ 

The young lover’s chest heaved under his lace- 
frilled shirt. 

“Guide and help me,” he went on. “You are 
the thinker, the planner, but when the time comes 



A BILLET-DOUX 


223 


for action I will be by your side. And one time, 
remember, I am to be alone.’’ 

He choked back something in his throat, and 
for an instant his usually placid face was fierce. 

Brentley answered: 

‘ ‘ I will go as far for you as I would for myself, 
and don’t forget I am fighting for my Dorothy 
as well as for you. Gaston! Had she not re¬ 
lented at the last moment I don’t know how I 
would have fared upon this quest. My heart 
would have been lead and my brain lifeless. For 
1 love this honey-haired maid just as much as 
you do your little captive ma’m’selle, and were she 
where luckless Margot is I doubt not my plight 
would be fully equal to yours—But look, for God’s 
sake! And be quiet! ” 

For the first time since the momentous discov¬ 
ery, Chavannes had allowed his eyes to seek his 
companion’s in a grateful glance. And that mo¬ 
ment Saul saw, and spoke before he could hold 
his tongue. 

A figure had come to the opening in the cliff 
wall. It was standing somewhat back, where the 
light did not penetrate fully, but indistinct as it 
was to Brentley, the eagle eyes of Chavannes 
recognized his sweetheart. When Saul uttered 
his almost involuntary exclamation he had flung 
his arms out mechanically across the back of the 
man at his side, and now he felt the form stiffen¬ 
ing beneath his touch. 

‘‘It is she! It is she!” 

The words came in a sibilant undertone, and the 
speaker made as though to crawl forward. 

‘‘Lie still, man! Are you mad? For heaven’s 
sake control yourself! ” 

But Chavannes only answered: “It is she! It 
is she!” truly like one demented. 

Then, as they both lay and watched, Saul’s arm 



224 A BLUEGRASS CAVALIER 


tight around the wiry body which he pressed to 
his side with restraining force, the dim figure 
came slowly forward. Before it reached the 
jagged sides which presently framed it, Saul 
knew that it was Margot LaTour. The girl 
walked quite up to the opening, then throwing her 
arms up she grasped the rock on each side with 
her hands, thrust her face clear out into the air 
and sunshine. The wind at once caught her un¬ 
bound hair and ravelled it out in countless 
threads, whipping some strands under her chin 
and drawing others across her forehead. Such 
a picture in such a setting doubtless was never 
presented before in all history. Saul knew that 
his lips were parted and his breath bated, and 
vaguely he felt the quick, jerky respirations which 
shook the body under his arm. The girl could 
be seen plainly, for the gorge was not wide, and 
the air clear. They could even notice her squint¬ 
ing her eyes against the brilliant sunlight which 
fell full in her face, and a gold breast-pin glinted 
at the base of her milky neck. 

A sudden rigor shook Gaston, then he squirmed 
about in the bear-hug his friend still maintained, 
and whispered: 

“My mind is clear now, Saul; clear and bright 
as this day. When her blessed presence was re¬ 
vealed, calm came to me. Now take your arm 
from me—I am going to show myself!” 

“You will spoil—” 

“Listen! You have been wise and good, and 
I shall never cease to remember. But Margot 
fills the opening, and the old dame is doubtless 
busy at something within. Think what it will 
mean to my beloved to know that I am here— 
that we are here—and have found her! Think 
of the joy which will fill her, and of the easement 
from apprehension which such knowledge will 



A BILLET-DOUX 


225 


bestow. And no possible harm can come. Do you 
not see?” 

“She may scream, or call your name.” 

“Her little head is too wise for that. The suc¬ 
cess of this adventure means everything to me. 
I am willing to take the risk.” 

Brentley slowly drew his arm away. 

“Much that you say is right. The only danger 
is in the old woman seeing you, or the girl cry¬ 
ing out. Rise quickly, then, and go forward a 
few steps. She may disappear any moment.” 

With a choked exclamation Chavannes got on 
his feet and swiftly passed around the concealing 
bush. Then some thorny creepers and a few trees 
alone intervened. Regardless of the spikes which 
tore at his trousers, he pushed forward and 
presently stood fully exposed. Saul had crept 
after Gaston, and now crouched behind him. 

‘ ‘ Don’t say a word, boy! Wait till she looks! ’ ’ 

For Margot had all at once let her chin fall, as 
though in meditation. Would she go back into the 
cavern without looking up again? The thought 
darted to Chavannes ’ brain like the entering of a 
knife-point, and he leaned forward, striving with 
all his will to make her feel his presence. Several 
tense moments passed. Then the girl's arms 
dropped listlessly to her sides. Standing thus de¬ 
jectedly for a time, she took one slow backward 
step, her face still downcast. It was more than 
the ardent Gaston could endure. He had filled his 
lungs for the hail which he felt he must give, 
when Margot threw up her head, as though she 
had truly heard his voice. Straight across at her 
lithe young lover she looked, while he silently 
held his arms toward her in dumb affection and 
assurance. 

Saul, resting with his hip on his heel, saw the 
girl stand as if petrified for three full breaths. 



226 A BLUEGRASS CAVALIER 


Then she came forward until her form again filled 
the opening, and smiled bravely over the gulf. 
Two fingers flew to her lips in the silence sign, 
then presently with the same fingers she wafted 
a kiss toward her knight. An expression of alarm 
followed almost instantly, and she waved the 
watcher back with short but vehement gestures. 

“Back to cover—hurry!” urged Brentley, as 
his friend, loath to leave, yet tarried. 

He grasped the leg of the man standing as he 
spoke, and forcibly drew him down again. 

“All lovers are fools,’’ commented Saul, as 
they sank behind the rhododendron bush again, 
“but I believe a French lover is the foolishest 

fool on earth—if you will pardon me. 

Now see what you barely escaped!” 

The orifice was obstructed again, but by another 
figure. An old, hag-like woman stood there now, 
her unkempt gray locks writhing snakily about her 
head. One hand was held above her eyes, and 
she was peering up and down the river, and over 
to the place where the young men lay securely 
hidden. She saw nothing, not even the scarlet 
signal which flapped against the wall below her 
feet, and presently withdrew. 

“We’ll have to hurry to keep our appoint¬ 
ment,” spoke the cooler head. “Bend low until 
we are down this little hillock; then we may be 
as careless as we please.” 

Saul at once began to retreat, and Gaston, with 
a last lingering glance, sighed and reluctantly 
followed. 

So elated were they that they linked arms as 
they hurried along, like schoolgirls. 

“A good morning’s work, my boy. Could you 
hope or ask for more within half a day?” 

‘ ‘ I can never repay you, my comrade. Without 
you and your resource and courage my Margot 




A BILLET-DOUX 


227 


would have been lost. Remember, they sought 
for her before you came.” 

“But they did not get a message in the night 
as they drifted asleep in a boat.” Saul spoke 
half chaffingly. “Had I not been given a clue I 
would have been as helpless as any of these peo¬ 
ple. I was just lucky, and I am glad.” 

Gaston turned a serious face up to the smiling 
one at his side. 

“Do you not think her fair?” he asked, sud¬ 
denly. 

“Fair indeed. But she seems frail as a 
flower. ’ ' 

“ 'Tis the imprisonment, and worry, and loss . 
of sleep—poor girl! You should see her free in 
the sunshine, when love surrounds her life! A 
flower? Yes; and her very being is a perfume. 

. . . Let's hasten; we're moving so slowly.” 

“We’ll catch Uncle Bacchus, don't fear. And 
our legs could go no faster unless we ran.'' 

4 ‘ It was not of the black man I thought, but of 
beginning afresh the work of rescue. Oh, Saul! 

I feel that I cannot rest until she's free!'' 

“All of our efforts shall be in that direction 
now. We should accomplish her release very 
soon.” 

Though he spoke thus encouragingly, doubt sat 
heavy on Saul's heart. He knew it would be no 
May-day frolic to find the entrance to that place 
of confinement. 

The way grew more difficult, and they continued 
without speaking until they came to the abrupt 
declivity which gave into the ravine where they 
had left the boat. It took but a few minutes to 
go down, and soon they were ready for a second 
crossing. 

4 4 1 believe we '11 miss the old nigger sure if he's 
on time,” declared Saul, ruefully. “We've less 



228 


A BLUEGRASS CAVALIER 


than thirty minutes now to keep onr appoint¬ 
ment.’ ’ He put his watch back with a vexed 
gesture. 

“But is not our discovery worth a broken en- 
gagement ? ’ ’ queried Chavannes, wonderingly. 

“Certainly; it is not that. But you don’t know" 
our black people. If the old fool would have 
sense enough only to wait a while. But he won’t. 
You know his opinion of this country. Well, fail¬ 
ing to sight either of us upon his arrival, he will 
turn and run for home as fast as his horse can 
go, and in all likelihood will tell Captain Pem¬ 
broke and his family that we are dead. . . . 

But let me think. . . . We will be swept down 

stream again, as we were coming over, and will 
again have to trust more or less to luck for a 
landing. It may be one mile and it may be two 
before we get ashore. Then we must try to find 
the road by which we came yesterday afternoon in 
time to head off that old coward. Let’s put off. 
We’ve no time to lose.” 

Ten seconds later they were afloat again. It 
took perhaps twenty minutes to conquer the cur¬ 
rent, and they had come to a point where the cliffs 
temporarily broke away into straggling hills be¬ 
fore they could effect a landing. 

“Where are we, friend?” 

Gaston gazed about him almost in dismay. In 
spite of the cheering sunshine it seemed to him 
that they were in the midst of a country of which 
the devil had had a hand in the making. 

“Goodness knows, I don’t. But north is there, 
and somewhere in that direction is the road. It is 
nearly noon.” 

“Forward, then, and don’t spare effort for 
me.” 

A half hour of dumb, toilsome progress brought 
them to a highway. 



A BILLET-DOUX 


229 


“Is this the road?” 

Saul, chest heaving, turned in surprise toward 
the man whose breath was not even quickened. 

‘ ‘ I believe so. . . . Are you made of iron ? ’ 9 

A smile dawned and faded on Gaston’s face in 
a twinkling. 

‘ i Steel, I believe, ’ ’ he answered. . . . “ See, 
a horseman!” 

Brentley wheeled toward the east. 

“It’s he. Wp’re in the nick of time. He’s com¬ 
ing as though Satan and a picked band were at his 
heels. ’ ’ 

A waved cap and a loud yell caused the ap¬ 
proaching rider to draw rein. It was indeed Cap¬ 
tain Pembroke’s body-servant. Agitation was 
visible in every movement he made, and fright 
was depicted on his livid face, now almost the 
color of wood ashes. 

“Fo’ de Lawd Gawd’s sake! Praise ’is name!” 
was the greeting the friends received, as the 
darky’s eyes rolled devoutly skyward. 

‘ 6 Where are you going so fast, Uncle Bacchus ? ’ ’ 
asked Saul, his hand on the horse’s neck. 

“Me? . . . I’s gwi lickety-split home; dat’s 
’bout whur I’s gwi!” 

“You promised to meet us at noon—the middle 
of the day.” 

“En ain’t I been a-settin’ dah whur I lef’ you 
gem’n yistiddy fo’ de pas’ hour en mo’? Whur 
you been at, young marse? ’Fo’ de Lawd, I 
thought dey’d done got you, en I gits lonesomer 
en lonesomer, en di’rec’ly some’n’ squalls lak, 
back todes dem cliffs, en hit skeerd dis hoss so 
dey’s no holdin’ uv ’im. I wras’le wid ’im en 
saw he mouf, but no suh! He heerd dat squall 
lak en he’s goin ’ home, en I stuck to ’im 1 ’ ’ 

This recital was totally unintelligible to Cha- 
vannes, and Brentley knew too well that native 



230 A BLUEGRASS CAVALIER 


ingenuity had invented the alarm and frightened 
horse. He knew, too, that it would be useless to 
uncover the barely hidden artifice, so he accepted 
the explanation at its face value and said: 

4 4 We have been on the other side, went a little 
farther than we intended, so were a few minutes 
late. Let us have what you’ve got to eat, and 
when you come to-morrow bring corn for the 
horses. There’s nothing here for them to eat 
except leaves.” 

Uncle Bacchus lifted a canvas sack which he 
had balanced across his mount behind the saddle, 
and gave it to Saul. 

“I’s to quiah ’bout how you’s git’n’ ’long, en’ 
’specially to ax ef you hadn’t foun’ nothin’.” 

Brentlev looked at the speaker keenly. 

44 Was that all! No note or letter for me!” 

Now Uncle Bacchus displayed the few teeth he 
had in a grin of recollection. 

44 ’Pon my soul en body! I’s ’bout to furgit 
dat, sho! ’Kase de young missus she call me 
’roun’ to de side po’ch jes’s I’s git’n’ ready to 
put out, en she gib me dis.” 

He removed his battered hat as he spoke, and 
took from the top of his flat head a long, narrow 
envelope. 

4 4 Dis am hit, suh, en she said it wuz fo’ Marse 
Saul, I do b’lieb!” 

44 I’m Mlarse Saul”—taking the billet— 44 and if 
you’d gone home without giving this to me I’d 
have killed you as soon as I found it out. ’ ’ 

This was said with such evident earnestness 
that the old negro’s face fell. But he did not 
answer, and Brentley, hastily tearing the end 
from the envelope, read the message— 

4 4 Oh, Saul, Mack Leek was here this morn¬ 
ing. He talked to papa out in the yard under 



A BILLET-DOUX 


231 


the big sugar tree. I saw the meeting from 
the window of my room, upstairs. This is 
the first time he was ever near our house. 
Both of them grew angry. I believe it was 
about poor dear Margot, and maybe about the 
gold, which is here safe in a closet in my 
room. The conversation didn’t last long, but 
I think it ended with papa’s ordering that 
awful man away. He is so big and wicked 
looking. When he had gone I asked papa 
what he had come for, but received no satis¬ 
factory answer. But I noticed that within a 
few minutes after Mack Leek left papa was 
getting all the firearms about the place to¬ 
gether and having them oiled and loaded. 
I’m afraid something is going to happen. We 
have ten men slaves and a few boys almost 
grown, and some of them are very brave. It 
seems to me that papa is preparing for an 
attack of some sort. How I wish you were 
here—but no, no! I didn’t mean that, of 
course. Don’t come—don’t dare come! I 
was just thinking how secure I should feel. 
Stay where you are and find our darling Mar¬ 
got—and then come fast as you can to 

Your Dorothy.” 

Silently handing the open letter to Gaston, Saul 
drew a note-book and pencil from an inner pocket, 
and using the glossy neck of the horse by which 
he stood as a support, quickly traced a reply. 

“ Sweet lady of my heart, we found your 
Margot this morning, not over an hour ago. 
We permitted her to see us, so she knows that 
help is at hand. To release her is our prob¬ 
lem, but this we hope to accomplish soon. 
Your written words are to my spirit what 
sunshine is to verdure. All that is within me 



232 A BLUEGRASS CAVALIER 


urges me to your side, but I believe you have 
full protection and I do not think that Mack 
will attempt any violence, soulless wretch 
that he is. He probably knows the gold has 
been transferred to your home, and is ask¬ 
ing ransom. Be brave and careful. Do not 
venture out alone, and if you have a light 
revolver keep it always near. Gaston joins 
me in warmest messages to your family, but 
I alone send love eternal as eternity. 

“Should real danger threaten, send Uncle 
Bacchus on your fastest horse.’’ 

Saul. 

This letter he folded, placed in the envelope 
which had contained his, and handed to the darky. 

“Look ‘o’ here, old man!” he said, drawing 
his brows down and making his voice stern. 
“Deliver that to Miss Dorothy the minute you 
get home, and don’t forget it and don’t lose it. 
And listen! It may be she’ll start you back here 
at once, and day or night, you come! If you fail 
her I’ll stick a "spike through you and roast you 
over a slow fire. If you’re faithful, I’ll give you 
another piece like this.” He slipped a golden 
half-eagle into the astounded servitor’s hand. 
“Now gallop! The sooner you’re home, the 
better. ’ ’ 

Too amazed at this strange talk to even thank 
the giver of the yellow coin, or to render any 
effusive assurances of faithfulness, Uncle Bacchus 
gathered up his reins and sped away, a mystified 
mortal. 

Saul turned to his friend. 

“What do you think of Dorothy’s note?” 

“It spells mischief, my Saul. Maybe you had 
better return.” 

“With you and Margot—yes. Let’s on. 



A BILLET-DOUX 


233 


There ’s a full afternoon ahead, and much can be 
done in a few hours, as we’ve shown this morn¬ 
ing.” 

There was a trace of moisture in Chavannes’ 
eyes. 

“You wonderful friend!” he said. 



XVIII 


Sitting beside still waters with two human 
derelicts. 

Mordecai Fode sat upon a bench by the door of 
his hut in Beechum’s Woods. It was about two 
hours past noon on the day following Mack Leek’s 
spectacular appearance at the public kept by 
Cadwallader Hull. The skins-and-leather man 
was busily engaged in finishing an axe helve, and 
he sang gently at his task a song which no one 
could possibly interpret in written notes. The 
stick of wood upon which he was engaged glistened 
grayish-white. It was hickory, and after drawing 
knife had come broken glass, and following that 
an oiled rag, for the philosopher was a painstak¬ 
ing and careful workman. He received two bits 
for every helve, and he never made more than two 
a day. 

His hut was a hut; it did not approach the 
dignity of a cabin. He had built it many years 
before, all by himself, declining with his peculiarly 
sweet smile offers of help from kindhearted neigh¬ 
borhood folk. It could easily be seen that his 
mind had a twist, in it, and people were sorry 
for him, and wondered who he was and where 
he had come from, and why Fate had dealt thus 
with him, who surely was innocent as a child. 
But he made no revelations, and about him hung 
an atmosphere which checked inquisitive tongues. 
His needs were few, and he supplied them by 
plying his queer trade—twisted rawhide for 
whips, and beautifully finished helves of season- 
234 


DERELICTS 


235 


ed hickory for axes and hatchets. The hut was 
of one room, low. It was made of undressed logs 
covered with clapboards, and had a squat chimney 
of stone. There were two tiny windows. 

Beechum’s Woods comprised a considerable 
stretch of forest, and Mordecai Fode’s home had 
been built in a small glade deep within its sylvan 
heart. Here was a natural opening of perhaps 
a quarter of an acre, even free from rank under¬ 
brush. The scattered bushes Mordecai had care¬ 
fully uprooted, and the spot had grown grassy 
with the passage of the years. The isolated hut sat 
upon a very gradual slope which terminated at a 
brooklet; a babbling little forest stream which 
was forever musical with silver gurglings. And 
the inhabitant of this Arcadian nook had flower 
patches distributed about the purlieu with an eye 
to symmetry and the blending of proper colors. 
An ivy vine draped the chimney’s barren gray¬ 
ness. 

Mordecai Fode had no visitors. The spot where 
he dwelt was out of the way, no road led to it, 
and the idea had spread abroad somehow that he 
preferred to live alone. A natural idea in view 
of the place where he had chosen to build. Now 
and again in squirrel season a hunter would 
stumble upon the recluse ’s abode, but that was all. 

This afternoon he sat and sang his cranky- 
sounding little tune which no written-down notes 
could ever capture, stopping now and again to 
eye critically the work in hand. The handle must 
be straight and true from tip to tip, and the grip 
turned just so. For his helves were in demand 
the length and breadth of the county, and never 
had one been thrown back on him because of 
faulty workmanship. Presently, as he sang and 
toiled, he saw a figure approaching between the 
great beeches which grew profusely in the vicinity 



236 


A BLUEGRASS CAVALIER 


of his home. The philosopher continued to rub 
the shining wood, although in all probability this 
was the first human who had sought him thus in 
years. 

The man came on, ducking agilely under a low 
hanging beech limb at the edge of the glade, then 
giving a hop-skip-and-jump which landed him 
squarely before the unperturbed workman. 

4 ‘ Friend, of a truth you hide well! ’ ’ exclaimed 
the newcomer, ruefully bending to rub his bony 
and poorly protected shins. “For a half hour, 
or three quarters, maybe, I’ve been floundering 
through this wilderness, and what with running 
briars and stubborn bushes, I’ve sworn oaths I 
never knew existed. . . . Now bid me wel¬ 

come, and show me where to sit!” 

As Mordecai lifted his mild blue eyes a faint 
twinkle crept into them, but the dancing light was 
instantly eclipsed, and he replied in a gravely 
courteous voice. 

“Welcome you are indeed, Noey Mble, though 
it’s many a year you’ve taken to come. As for a 
place to sit, this bench is too small-” 

Rising with the sentence unfinished he stooped 
and passed within the low door, reappearing 
instantly with a stool of his own manufacture. 

“Rest on this, an’ you are not too tired,” he 
said, extending it. ‘ 4 This helve is nearly done, ’ ’ 
he resumed, occupying his bench again, “and all 
the time I followed the grain with the knife, and 
smoothed it with the glass, and polished it with 
the rag, I was wondering how many years it took 
for it to come up from nothing to be something— 
to be wood—to be the toughest and strongest 
wood that grows.” 

The saddler-preacher eyed the workman with 
a squint of curiosity, the while he nursed one 
knee. 

“Now I would call that a most unusual 
thought, ’ ’ he declared, presently. ‘ * I have looked 



DERELICTS 


237 


upon hickory saplings and hickory trees all my 
life long, but a notion like that never entered 
my head.” 

The other derelict smiled faintly. 

‘ 4 That’s because you’re not a philosopher,” he 
explained. “To mea drop of dew with moonlight 
on it is wonderful as the world. To you it is a 
clear drop of water. In consequence, I live, while 
you merely breathe and eat and sleep and move 
about.” 

Noey Mole twisted on his stool and ran his 
tongue over his lips surreptitiously. 

‘ ‘ Phew! I’m dry—thirsty! Not from your talk, 
friend Fode, but from my tramp hither.” 

“The water sits just within, on a shelf. It’s 
good and cool. Help yourself. ’ ’ 

Noey nervously shifted his laced fingers to his 
other knee and drew it up toward his chest. 

“I’ve a misery, too,” he added, slily. r ‘It 
comes on me with undue exercise, and can be re¬ 
lieved only by spirits. ” He pressed a hand to his 
side with a low groan. “Does it chance you have 
a small quantity of strong waters—say, whisky?” 

With gaunt face twisted from eagerness and 
appetite, he waited for an answer. 

Guileless as a child, Mordecai laid aside his 
work and arose. 

* ‘ I keep spirits, yes. It stands me in good stead 
in little illnesses. I’ll fetch it.” 

And as he went within a second time the wastrel 
on the stool shook in anticipative glee. 

When Mordecai Fode came out again he brought 
with him a stone jug stoppered with corncob. 

“It’s old, and I think you will find it fairly 
good,” he said, giving the jug to the clutching 
hands which were shamelessly out-thrust to re¬ 
ceive it. “I use little, and only when need makes 
me.” 



238 A BLUEGRASS CAVALIER 


“Aye, ’tis treacherous stuff, indeed,” Noey 
glibly acquiesced, wrenching the corncob out and 
putting the neck to his lips. Thrice he drank, 
deep draughts each time, but the placid mind of 
the skins-and-leather man had already reverted to 
his interrupted task, and he did not see. 

Noey Mole nursed the jug on his skinny legs, 
while an expression almost beatific stole over his 
hungry, whisky-seared face. The stuff was as the 
water of life to him. 

“It is good liquor, friend Mordy,” he mur¬ 
mured, after a few moments had sped, and he had 
begun to feel the first tiny thrills of elation. i 6 The 
pain will ease now, and I thank you. . . . But 

whither is the bear?” 

For some time he had been looking about for 
the big brute. 

“Paddyfoot’s in the woods, looking for food.” 

“Will he not stray, and perchance leave you?” 

Again the wan, fleeting smile. 

“No; he r s a good bear and a smart bear. Every 
day he goes forth, and each evening he comes in. 
He won’t leave me.” 

The helve finished at last, Mordecai dropped 
one end to the ground and leaned it against the 
bench. Then, hands on knees and bending slight¬ 
ly forward, he appeared to be trying to think. 
His lean face puckered, and his eyes became 
troubled. Noey Mole took advantage of this ab¬ 
straction to imbibe more of the jug’s contents. 
The other paid no heed to the action, and ap¬ 
peared to be oblivious of his caller’s presence. 
It seemed that his mind was in turmoil; that the 
vital portion of his brain was struggling to awake 
and speak. Mordecai shifted his hands, then his 
feet, in short, jerky motions, and all the while he 
stared hard at the ground in front of him, his 
face furrowed and drawn. This silent wrestling 



DERELICTS 


239 


lasted for two or three minutes, and during it 
Noey Mole sat hugging the jug, wordless. He 
knew of nothing to say, and he simply waited 
for the seizure or whatever it was to pass. It 
did pass, after a while. The philosopher’s wor¬ 
ried face unclouded, his >eyes which had gleamed 
as though under great pain cleared to their nor¬ 
mal semi-vacant gaze, and he sighed and drew 
his hand down over his forehead and face with 
the gesture of one wiping aw r ay a web or a veil. 

“Yes, Paddyfoot’s a good bear,” he muttered. 
4 ‘ He will come home at sundown and put his chin 
on my lap, and I will pet him. ’ ’ 

He lifted his head and blinked toward the tree- 
tops for a few moments in a bewildered way. 
Then as he brought his eyes to his observant 
caller the wan smile came again. 

“Did you say it was good?” he queried, in gen¬ 
tle tones. 

“Most excellent! And the pain in my side is 
all gone. ... No doubt you wonder why I 
have come to Beechum’s Woods and searched 
until I found you?” 

The skins-and-leather man put out a hand and 
lightly rubbed the shining piece of wood at his 
side—caressed it, in fact. 

“I had not thought—but you must have a mis¬ 
sion—it must be of importance—for I have lived 
here long, and none seek me.” 

“I come in the name of Love and Youth,” re¬ 
turned Noey, his eyes, beginning to blear afresh, 
suddenly aglow with a tender light. 

“Ah! The lost maiden, perhaps! And there 
is news?” 

‘‘Nay, but there will be soon. Her lover is here, 
and together with that stalwart stranger sojour¬ 
ner, is seeking her night and day. They will find 
her, if they haven’t already. The lover brought 



240 A BLUEGRASS CAVALIER 


gold for ransom, but the other counselled a search 
first, and the treasure-trunk lies now at the home 
of Captain Pembroke. But I doubt me if it lies 
there long.” 

Undisguised perplexity sat upon Moruecai’s 
countenance, and he shook his head slowly. 

“Mack Leek’s on the rampage,” the saddler- 
preacher’s tongue ran, for it was now well oiled. 
“He stole the girl and he’s hiding her in a hole 
somewhere, hoping to get his hands on the ran¬ 
som. He knows the young men have an inkling 
as to where she is, and may locate her any minute, 
for they are camping on the cliffs. ’ ’ . 

“I pray she may be delivered,” said Mordecai 
Fode. 

“I was looking for a raid last night from Leek 
and his gang,” Noey babbled on, “but somehow 
they didn’t come. Now sure as the sun goes down 
back of these woods that devil’ll make a try for 
;the gold to-night. And he ain’t too good to 
burn and kill; he’s done it before. As for the 
captain, he could look out for himself, but he’s 
got a daughter who’s an angel. She came to me 
once when I was down and sick, getting over 
snakes, and brought me some smelly, cooling stuff 
that my stomach could Iiold, and by God! I’m 
going to fight for her this night! If Mack Leek 
comes with his cutthroats, bent on robbery and 
maybe murder, somebody’s going to feel hot lead 
inside him! ’ ’ 

Genuine feeling and the potent liquor now riot¬ 
ing through him combined to flush his cheeks and 
lend a lusty vigor to his words. He placed the 
jug on the ground and leaned toward his listener, 
pointing at Mordecai with a curiously shrivelled 
forefinger. 

“And I want you to help me!” he added, in 
sibilant eagerness. 



DERELICTS 


241 


The philosopher’s calm remained unbroken at 
this fervent request. He continued to eye the 
figure on the stool with his customary phlegmatic 
air. 

“No, I didn’t come just for a chat,” pursued 
Noey. “I came in the name of Love and Youth 
to ask you to help me.” 

Again a shadow as of something far reminiscent 
and but fitfully glimpsed welled up and darkened 
the steady eyes, and lines sprang to the smooth 
forehead. But shadow and lines both vanished 
almost before they could be perceived, and Morde- 
cai was speaking, a bit heavily. 

“What have I to do with Love and Youth? I 
knew them once, I suppose—and I knew—I knew 

r—long years-” He drew his lips together 

hard, swallowed, and said kindly: “I am not a 
fighter, but a man of peace and a philosopher. 
I have no weapon, and I shed no man’s blood. 
Is there not a Book, and is it not written— 4 Who 
so sheddeth man’s blood, by man shall his blood 
be shed’? I seem to remember.” 

‘ 4 Aye! ’ ’ retorted Noey Mole, eagerly. 4 ‘ It says 
that, and it says too that 4 He who takes the sword 
shall perish by the sword. ’ You can’t beat me on 
Scripture, friend Mordy. But I did not come to 
ask you to join me in the fray, knowing your 
peaceful habits. My idea was entirely different, 
and it came to me nigh noon to-day as I sat in the 
tap-room of the Leaning Stump and took counsel 
with a swallow of brandy from Master Hull’s 
store. This misery in my side was gnawing me 
even then, and as I sat and sipped, and sipped 
yet more—for the pain is stubborner at times, and 
usually when the sun is just overhead-—my mind 
wandered to the outlaw Leek and the ransom gold 
and the sweet girl who brought me the stomach¬ 
cooling, smelly stuff when I lay weak and undone 




242 


A BLUEGRASS CAVALIER 


from battling with huge snakes and scorpions 
which had buttons of green fire in their heads, 
for eyes. And I argued to myself that it would be 
a cruel shame to let that whiskered villain attack 
the home of one who had succored me in distress, 
and maybe burn it but what he got the ransom, 
for everyone knows fire will not hurt gold. Then 
I realized the countryside was terrorized because 
of this brute of a bandit ; people afraid to speak 
their own names because of his heavy fist, and I 
says to myself— 4 What shall I do, and where shall 
I go % 9 As it chanced I had but swallowed another 
gill or two of brandy when this thought popped 
into my head and therefore I give Cadwallader 
Hull credit for the answer which my mind gave. 
Aye, yield it to him freely, in spite of the fact that 
he often chalks up two drinks against me when 
he serves only one. Which may be business, but 
no Christian act, and I working hard for my pence 
and turning nearly all of it over to Master Hull 
as I do. Well, inspired no doubt by the brandy, 
my brain answered at once, and this is what it 
said: 4 Get you to Mordecai Fode, you dolt, and 
ask him to loan you his big bear. ’ So up I jumped, 
forgetting my reckoning—and the same Master 
Hull won’t, with interest added—and turned my 
face toward Beechum’s Woods. And a grievous 
time I had getting here! But here I am, and I 
pray you—loan me your bear!’ ’ 

During this feverish outburst Mordecai Fode 
sat with clasped hands mildly regarding the 
speaker. His partially fettered mind saw nothing 
humorous in this hot-voiced request, and he 
seemed vaguely pained that he must refuse it. 

“Paddyfoot’s a good bear,” he began, his tones 
mellow with affection, “but he is a bear of peace. 
We do not fight, Paddyfoot and I. We are gentle 
with each other, and love each other. . . . 



DERELICTS 


243 


Paddyfoot loves honey,” he added, in a slightly 
lower key. 

Noey’s nervous fingers found the handle of the 
jug, and hoisted it to his lap. He began to feel 
pity for the lonely man before him, who had been 
so courteous and hospitable. 

“I thought all bears would fight,” he resumed, 
deftly working at the stopper with finger and 
thumb, ‘‘ and I thought of how yours would scare 
those rapscallions charging in the night.” 

“They would shoot, you know,” answered the 
skins-and-leather man, “and they might kill Pad¬ 
dyfoot, or break his leg. I couldn’t stand that, 
for we’ve been friends long—ever since he was a 
little woolly puppy, and I found him whining and 
crying in the woods. I wish you well, and pray 
release for the maiden, and success for the lovers 

—lovers—youth-” he stopped and pressed his 

hand to his eyes for a long time, and it was then 
the nondescript-clad outcast on the stool drank 
again. “I should like to go—to go,” the sweet 
voice came once more, a little strained and dulled, 
“but I make good helves, and stout ropes of raw- 
hide, and Paddyfoot sits by my knee and watcnes 
me smooth the wood or twist the hide. Then we 
tramp the road to New Market, and on court days 
to Cedarton, and sell—two bits for a helve, and 
the same for a whip. . . . Did you say it was 

good? It is old, and has a winey flavor, as I re¬ 
member. I haven’t tasted it for several months.” 

“Far better than can be got at any public, in¬ 
deed. ’Tis sweet as honey and mild as rain¬ 
water—a rare beverage. . . . Now perhaps 

I was wrong to ask for the loan of your big bear, 
but the idea came to me of how he would frighten 
the rascals, and I was planning to lead him with 
a rope.” 




244 


A BLUEGRASS CAVALIER 


“Paddyfoot is never tied, and he follows no one 
but me.” 

‘ ‘ Oho! So I ’ve had my journey for nothing! ’ ’ 
Noey gave an airy sweep with one of his spindling 
arms. 44 But that is not true, on its very face,” 
he hastened on, with a quizzical grimace. “You 
have entertained me royally and given me cheer, 
for which I thank you.” He arose and stood, 
swaying slightly. “And now I will be on my way. 
The sun drops lower, and the forest is shadowy. 
Peace be with you, Mordecai Pode, and happiness, 
and dreamless sleep!” The gaunt, half-ragged 
form drew itself very erect as the last words were 
spoken, and the arms were held straight out, 
palms down, as though invoking a blessing. For 
the space of two breaths the tableau remained; 
Mordecai with crossed legs and folded hands re¬ 
laxed against the wall of his hut, his mild blue 
eyes inexpressive, while over him towered the 
drunken Noey, breathing a benediction with rum- 
soaked lips. The arms fell, and with a sound 
which was half laugh and half sob the preacher 
turned and strode across the clearing, his gait 
uncertain. At the edge of the surrounding wood 
he turned, waved his hand in a fanciful twist, then 
bounded away among the beeches, over the sound¬ 
less carpet of last year’s leaves, which shone be¬ 
neath his vagrant feet in varied patterns of 
sombre beauty. 



XIX 


Recounting the peculiar home-coming of Uncle 
Bacchus; taking a brief glimpse into a young 
maiden’s heart; and hearing sounds of portent 
from the highway. 

Four times since three o’clock had Mistress 
Dorothy Pembroke tripped across the big yard 
to stand just outside the gate giving onto the 
highway and gaze eagerly down the road. She 
was watching for Uncle Bacchus. By all methods 
of calculation he should have arrived not later 
than mid-afternoon, but at live o’clock, when the 
anxious young lady made her last trip, he had 
failed to appear. Dorothy was growing uneasy, 
and all sorts of fantastic fears were beginning to 
possess her. The errand of Saul and Gaston was 
a dangerous one; the scene of their operations 
was wild and desolate, and would lend itself ad¬ 
mirably to any hidden act of crime. The old 
negro was two hours late, and as the sun steadily 
sank lower, and no sound of hoofs heralded the 
approach of the long looked for rider, a panic 
fear seized the girl. She suddenly grew weak 
and leaned against the whitewashed gate, her eyes 
wide with apprehension and her face pale. Had 
some evil happened to the sturdy, laughing young 
fellow who only yesterday had held her to him 
till she was all but breathless, and told her of his 
love? The cliffs were treacherous and lonely, 
and Mack Leek crafty and cruel. Had he fol¬ 
lowed the seekers and wrought violence to her 
handsome knight? And had Uncle Bacchus, too, 
245 


246 


A BLUEGRASS CAVALIER 


fallen into the man’s clutches? Else why was he 
not home with some reassuring message? As 
Dorothy brooded and brooded, and her mind be¬ 
came more and more charged with all manner of 
horrible things, she let her fair head fall upon 
her arm and sobbed gently, as a child might who 
felt itself abused. For night was coming soon, 
and an awful loneliness and dread had settled 
over her. It was the voice of age, raised in a 
whining falsetto, which caused her to look up. 

Now it must be told that the cause of Uncle 
Bacchus’s delay was an abiding and undue love 
for spirits frumenti. It cannot be stated authori¬ 
tatively that his appetite was due in any way to 
his name, although the two went excellently well 
together. But whenever chance offered the old 
servitor indulged his bibulous nature, and as he 
posted homeward with the shining half-eagle 
clamped in one withered hand, his thoughts turned 
more and more to a certain tavern which sat 
somewhat out of his way, but where he knew of a 
verity much delightful stuff was stored. Uncle 
Bacchus had no earthly use for money other than 
to enjoy it at once. His master fed and clothed 
him, and thus all necessary wants were supplied. 
If a chance coin dropped in his palm he knew 
when and where to employ it. So, when he came 
to the parting of the way, instead of hurrying 
home as a good and faithful servant should, he 
hied him in the direction of New Market and ulti¬ 
mately landed in the tap-room of Cadwallader 
Hull. It is not needful to dwell upon his actions 
there, except to state that the rotund Boniface 
was at once struck with amazement when a gold 
coin from a black hand jingled upon his well- 
worn bar, and endeavored to draw from its owner 
how he chanced to get hold of it. Failing in this, 
the greedy landlord did his best to get possession 



UNCLE BACCHUS’ HOME-COMING 247 


of the half-eagle piecemeal, plying the thirsty old 
soul with drink after drink, and very likely 
charging double for each one. Howbeit, at the 
expiration of an hour and a half spent joyously 
at the shrine of his titular divinity, the gold piece 
nestled in a corner of Master Hull’s capacious 
'pohket in the midst of a score of minor silver 
coins which had been given in change, and Uncle 
Bacchus, his hide well soaked in liquid returns, 
was hoisted astride his mount and started on his 
journey. It chanced the horse knew the way home, 
and his rider, with slack rein, trusted entirely 
to the animal. As they neared familiar land¬ 
marks, the surcharged soul of the temporarily 
emancipated bondman caused him to break forth 
in song. 


“Swing low, sweet chari-o-o-ot, 

Gwi fo ’ to cyar me home; 

Swing low, sweet chari-o-o-ot, 

Gwi fo ’ to cyar me home! ’ ’ 

Over and over he repeated the lines, swaying 
in his saddle like a wind-blown reed, and it was 
this querulous chant which caused Dorothy to 
start and draw herself quickly erect. At first she 
failed to understand the slowly moving horse and 
tipsy rider. As comprehension dawned and swift 
anger painted her cheeks the on-comer broke out 
afresh: 


“Deb’l he chase me ’roun’ de stump. 
Gwi fo’ to cyar me home; 

Lak fo’ to cotch me eb’ry jump, 
Gwi fo ’ to cyar me home! ’ ’ 


Followed immediately by: 



248 


A BLUEGRASS CAVALIER 


“ Swing low, sweet chari-o-o-ot, 

Gwi fo ’ to cyar me home; 

Swing low, sweet-” 

But a small white fist was thumping on his side 
and a firm hand on the bridle had halted the tired 
horse. Straining upward on tiptoe, her eyes blaz¬ 
ing and her face stormy, Mistress Dorothy pound¬ 
ed right vigorously the lean ribs of her delinquent 
messenger, the while hot words fell from her little 
pink tongue. 

“You old dog! You hog! You- skunk! 

Where have you been, and why weren’t you here 
hours ago? Where’s Mr. Brentley and what did 
he say when he read my note and what message 
did he send me? Oh, I could beat you! I could! 
I could whip you with my own hand, you miser¬ 
able old monkey-faced cur dog! Going and get¬ 
ting drunk when on my business and having me 
waiting here all this time thinking goodness 
knows what! You—ought—to—be—a—shamed!” 
Each syllable was punctuated by a blow against 
Uncle Bacchus’s side. It is perhaps needless to 
record that none of them caused him the least 
inconvenience so far as pain was concerned, but 
ito the old fellow’s partially numbed brain had 
crept the idea that in some way he had given 
deadly offense, and he at once became lachrymose 
and repentant. 

“Fo’ de Lawd, young missus; fo’ de Lawd!” 
he managed to whimper, and made as though to 
get down. 

“Stay where you are!” thundered Dorothy. 

“What would you do on your feet, you-” She 

stopped for lack of a suitable word. “And answer 
my questions.” 

“Yas’m; sut’ny.” 

In his perplexity the befuddled darky lifted his 



UNCLE BACCHUS’ HOME-COMING 249 


hand and dragged his hat from his head. With 
the action a white envelope fluttered to the ground 
at the girl’s feet. 

“If you didn’t forget to-” she began, then 

stooped for the missive. 

In the fading light she read Saul’s reply to her 
note, and her heart sang with thanksgiving at 
what it revealed. The horse began to move for¬ 
ward at a walk and she let it go. Uncle Bacchus 
could give no dependable information until he 
became sober, and the text of the message in her 
hand was all sufficient pabulum for her heart 
that moment. They had found Margot; Saul was 
safe and loved her. With eyes grown moist and 
tender, and a sweet smile making her whole face 
burst into bloom, Dorothy gave a croon of happi¬ 
ness and impulsively pressed the sheet of paper 
hard to her breast. Then she turned and walked 
thoughtfully back to the gate, and presently was 
moving as though entranced across the long, 
shadow-filled yard toward the portico. 

Bluff old Jonathan Pembroke came out of the 
hall in his shirt sleeves as she drew near, his fore¬ 
head a-frown. 

“What in the world’s become o’ that nigger 
Bacchus, d’you s’pose?” he demanded of his 
daughter, giving an annoyed look toward the 
empty road beyond. 

Dorothy awoke from her maiden revery at the 
question and leaped lightly to her father’s arms. 

“Oh, he’s in! Came just now and brought the 
most wonderful news! They’ve found her, papa! 
Saul and his friend have found our Margot! Oh, 
it’s wonderful! They found her within twenty- 
four hours in all that wilderness! Don’t you 
think them grand?” 

“They did it a deuced sight quicker than I 
thought they would. Will they get in to-night?” 




250 A BLUEGRASS CAVALIER 


There was a veiled eagerness to the question 
which escaped the girl. 

“Oh, no! They’ve found her, hut they haven’t 
released her. This they hope to accomplish soon 
—and they will, I know they will. It has made 
me so happy, papa.” 

Lifting her soft lips to his rough cheek she gave 
him a clinging kiss. 

Captain Pembroke tightened his arm around 
the young form and stood gazing silently out into 
the gathering gloom. 

“Aren’t you glad, too?” she whispered from 
his shoulder. 

“Of course I am,” he replied, without enthusi¬ 
asm; but I wish they were coming in to-night.” 

Something in the words brought the girl erect 
with a sharp exclamation. 

“Why?” 

No answer. 

“Why do you want them so to-night, papa?” 

A big hand stole up and began to stroke her hair 
tenderly. 

‘ ‘ Because we may need them, ’ ’ he said, simply. 

“You mean—” 

She stopped, dreading to pronounce her fears. 

“I expected it last night, but it didn’t come. 
It ’ll come to-night. ’ ” 

Dorothy drew a deep breath, then was calm. 

“Won’t you tell me what he said to you this 
morning?” she asked. “I think you should.” 

Captain Pembroke folded his arms and leaned 
his shoulder against the pillar by which he stood. 

‘ ‘ He wanted the gold, to begin with. He threw 
off his mask and openly confessed to abducting 
Margot. How he found out 'the gold was here is 
a mystery to me, for I didn’t see him nor any of 
his gang when I went for it. His wickedness 
made me hot—of course I refused! He said he’d 



UNCLE BACCHUS’ HOME-COMING 251 


deliver the girl here safe in a few hours if I’d 
agree to hand over the trunk. I told him if that 
was all he’d come to talk about he’d better leave. 
He got pretty wrathy then and made all sorts o ’ 
threats, and I told him to clear out and never put 
his foot on my place again. So he went, but he’s 
cornin’ back. Since he’s confessed to takin’ the 
girl he knows that his days in this neighborhood 
are numbered. He’s a bad man, and desperate, 
and whatever he does now he’s got to do in a 
hurry, for the good people have only wanted a 
chance to rise up and drive him out, and now that 
chance’s come, and he knows it.” 

“But what do you fear now!” 

“I don’t fear anything, daughter; you’ve used 
the wrong word. What I believe is that Mack 
Leek and his gang ’ll be upon us some time to¬ 
night. ’ ’ 

Dorothy felt a peculiar chill sweep her from 
head to foot, a sensation she had never felt be¬ 
fore. 

“And that is why you had all the guns and 
pistols got in readiness this morning!” 

“Yes. He promised that if I would turn over 
the ransom he’d leave the country and never come 
back. I told him that if he got it he’d have to 
take it. That he swore he’d do.” 

Dorothy drew closer to her father in the dusk 
and clasped her hands over his shoulder. 

“Should real danger threaten send Uncle 

Bacchus on your fastest horse.” 

The closing line to Saul’s note began to beat 
through her brain. Over and over were the words 
reiterated. The bandit probably knew the young 
men were miles away, and was timing his assault 
accordingly. And real danger was at hand. The 



252 


A BLUEGRASS CAVALIER 


coming hours were portentous of evil, with Uncle 
Bacchus dead-drunk in some haymow. None of 
the other slaves knew the road to the cliffs with 
certainty. She was helpless to summon her lover 
to her side. 

The sound of the supper bell came clanging 
through the hall. 

It was a silent meal, for the weight of impending 
danger sat on every heart. 

“Hittie,” said Captain Pembroke to his sister 
as he arose from table, “get all the able-bodied 
bucks together in this room as soon as they’re 
through eatin’.” 

“Very well, brother,” said Miss MehitabeL 

Dorothy got up and followed her father into 
the sitting room, which was without light. She 
found him at the window, gazing out into the 
blackness. 

“Do you expect it early or late?” she asked, 
composedly, bending over to put her cheek against 
his. 

“The moon’ll be up in two hours or less. I 
hope he ’ll wait till then. ’ ’ 

“You think we can hold out, don’t you?” 

“If the infernal rascal don’t put the torch to 
us, I know we can. You see we’re barricaded and 
hidden, while he’ll have to move in the open. 
That’s why I’m hopin’ for moonlight.” 

They agreed to let the trunk stay where it was, 
as one hiding place was good as another pro¬ 
viding an entrance was forced. Then as they 
were discussing Mack Leek’s probable manner of 
approach Miss Mehitabel’s voice came from be¬ 
hind them. 

“The men are assembled, brother, as you 
wished. ’ ’ 

A minute later Captain Pembroke stood in the 
doorway leading to the dining room, the two women 



UNCLE BACCHUS’ HOME-COMING 253 


of the household just behind him. Gathered be¬ 
fore him were a half-score of his black bondmen. 
Bareheaded they stood in awkward but respectful 
attitudes, rolling questioning eyes at one another. 
For never before had word been sent to the 
“quarters” for them to come in a body to the 
“big house,” and they could not understand. Most 
of them were strong, hardy fellows, with plenty 
of toil-toughened muscle. 

“Boys”—began Captain Jonathan, the cheery 
lilt in his voice which he nearly always employed 
in addressing them, and a note to which he had 
found they responded most readily—‘ 4 there’s like¬ 
ly to be fightin’ about this house pretty soon. 
Mack Leek told me this mornin’ that he and his 
bunch ’s goin’ to come and clean us up. D’you 
reck’n they can do it?” 

There arose murmurs and guttural exclama¬ 
tions, while here and there white teeth showed 
where one grinned. Then a huge fellow spoke. 

“Naw, sir! dat dey cain’t!” 

“Of course they can’t, and we’ll have to teach 
’em a lesson. We haven’t got enough firearms 
to go ’round. There’s a long rifle, a shotgun and 
three pistols. You boys know who can shoot the 
best, so five of you step out here. ’ ’ 

Now some quiet, good-natured strife arose 
among the men as to who was best qualified to 
answer this call. Some held back, while others 
wanted to respond, but were restrained by their 
friends. Finally their master took a hand. 

“Here, Stumptoe; take this rifle. Didn’t I see 
you shoot a hawk with it once when it’s almost 
out o’ eyesight? ’Lasses, the shotgun’s for you. 
Dan, Mose, Crowhead; here’s a pistol apiece. The 
rest o’ you get axes, hatchets and clubs and hurry 
back. I don’t know when the fun’ll begin and we 



254 


A BLUEGRASS CAVALIER 


want to be ready. Behave yourselves well to¬ 
night, and I promise yon yon won’t be sorry.” 

The blacks whom he had called by name came 
forward and received their respective weapons, 
while the others left the room in quest of the arti¬ 
cles called for. Very soon they 'were back again, 
each armed with the implement best suited to his 
taste. 

44 We’ve got to keep a watch on all sides,” re¬ 
sumed Captain Jonathan, 44 for there’s no tellin’ 
where they’ll come. I’m goin’ to put you boys 
at different windows and I want you to keep your 
eyes open. The first one who sees anything will 
let the others know.” 

Forthwith the sentries were posted and immedi¬ 
ately thereafter the lights put out. All shutters 
had to remain open, and a lamp could direct the 
fire of anyone outside. Miss Mehitabel’s nerves 
gave way under these grim preparations, and the 
captain peremptorily ordered her off to bed; 
knowing well how quickly panic could be conveyed 
to the childlike minds of his retainers. The spin¬ 
ster vowed she would not sleep a wink that night, 
but the captain retorted she could at least stay 
in her room, so off she went. Then the master of 
the house took a chair by the sitting room window, 
a heavy revolver upon his knees. Dorothy drew 
a low rocker to his side, and they conversed in 
subdued tones as the minutes passed. 

In time the dense gloom without began to thin, 
and very soon thereafter vanished entirely before 
the onrushing moonlight, which came on a myriad 
silver-shod feet, in silent beauty. 

Dorothy gave a sigh of relief. 

44 Mack Leek blundered, didn’t he, papa, in de¬ 
laying until the moon came up?” 

4 4 He certainly did. We can meet him confident¬ 
ly now. You had better run upstairs and lie 



UNCLE BACCHUS’ HOME-COMING 255 


down. I ’ll wake you if you happen to drop off to 
sleep. ’ ’ 

“I think I share Aunt Hittie’s feeling concern¬ 
ing sleep, hut I’ll go up.” 

She arose, gave her father a good-night kiss, 
and disappeared on soft feet. 

When she reached her room she did not even 
undress, but went straight to a window overlook¬ 
ing the front yard and raised the sash. Then 
down upon the floor she sank, put her elbows on 
the sill and her chin in her cupped hands, and 
fell a-thinking. Not of the big robber who in all 
probability was on his way to that very house 
right then, but of one Saul Brentley, gentleman 
adventurer, and of how delicious it felt when she 
was lying crushed in his arms by the old spinet 
the previous morning. Never in all her young 
life had she felt before as she had then; never. 
It was of a verity the sweetest experience which 
had ever come to her, and she fervently hoped it 
would be repeated quite soon again. The ‘ ‘ other 
girl” bugaboo did not seem so bad now that she 
had heard his earnest protestations. Probably 
some shameless sort who had trapped him in some 
way, for he was so gallant and honorable, as all 
true Kentucky gentlemen are. And he had left 
home hastily in order to get rid of her. There 
was no doubt in Dorothy’s mind but that she 
herself had captivated and captured the brave 
young fellovr. Else how could he look at her so 
tenderly! Else how could he say the wonder¬ 
fully sweet things he did! Else why did he go 
on a quest where death might lurk—for her sake! 
Yes, he loved her! He loved her, and he would 
love her more and more as the days passed. In 
time they would marry, and the kind gloom hid 
the rich color which leaped to her cheeks as her 



256 A BLUEGBASS CAVALIEE 


maiden thoughts ran on and on, into a long life 
of happiness ahead. 

The sharp impact of a horse’s iron shoe against 
a stone brought her back to the present. 

With a quick-drawn breath she turned her face 
in the direction of the sound. Through the quiet 
air the thud of many hoof beats drifted to her. 
For a half minute this continued, then all was 
silent. She strained her ears and waited, but 
heard nothing more alarming than the broken¬ 
winged mockingbird waking to song under the 
magic of the moon. 

“Daughter,” her father’s voice sounded from 
the door of her room, “I think they’ve come.” 

“I heard them. I’ve been sitting here listen¬ 
ing. ’ ’ 

“There’s no use in me telling you not to be 
afraid. But you may expect a gun or two to 
go off soon, and there might be a right sharp 
tussle. Leek means business, all right, but we’ve 
got the advantage and’ll whip him easy. Don ’t 
come down. You couldn’t do any good and it 
might be a little dangerous.” 

“All right, papa. I’ll see you after it’s over.” 

A short laugh came from the darkness. 

“That’s my girl talkin’!” exclaimed Captain 
Jonathan, proudly. “You’re a brick, Dorry; 
good night.” 

He tramped back downstairs to visit his sen¬ 
tries and boost their courage. 

In her room above Dorothy stuck to the window 
and awaited developments. 




XX 


Continuing the preceding one naturally, and 
maJcmg as clear as may he how a certain big ban¬ 
dit sought to gain gold to which he had no claim. 
Likewise mentioning a solitary horseman who 
rode with valor, and chronicling a conversation 
which some mayhap will not understand even 
though it is spoken in fair English. 

v 

Many forest trees grew in the three-acre yard 
which lay between the house and the highway. 
These were in full leaf, and in consequence much 
of the tract was in shadow. To the right of the 
house the ground began to slope downward a 
short distance away, and fruit trees were clus¬ 
tered here so closely that no moonlight could gain 
entrance. To the left, and a hundred feet toward 
the road, was a dense, wild goose plum thicket. 

Dorothy crouched by the open window, watch¬ 
ing and listening. She heard nothing but her 
bird on the side porch serenading the moon. But 
to her the silence boded ill. She surmised that 
the bandits had drawn their horses off the road 
and tethered them to the fence, and were making 
their advance on foot. But they were not travers¬ 
ing any of the space visible from her window. 
They could not come directly toward the front of 
the house unseen, because bright patches and 
broad expanses of moonlight lay everywhere. 
They plainly were making a flank or rear move¬ 
ment, and there was nothing to do but wait until 
they declared themselves and so revealed their 


258 


A BLUEGRASS CAVALIER 


position. It was tedious waiting, and the girl 
was conscious of nerve-strain as the moments 
dragged by. The house was still and outside was 
still, for the mockingbird suddenly ceased his 
madcap jumble of tunes. Dorothy was not afraid, 
but she felt that if something didn’t happen 
quickly she would jump up and scream. And as 
she sat huddled, clenching her hands to hold her¬ 
self in place, something did happen. The peace¬ 
ful night was disturbed by the terrifically loud 
report of a heavy revolver, and it came from the 
right of the house where the fruit trees were 
massed. Following it at once was a deep voice. 

“Hello! Captain Pembroke! Are you awake?’’ 

A few seconds later Dorothy heard her father 
reply. He had crossed the hall and gone into the 
parlor, and answered from an east window. His 
words reached her faintly, but she heard all he 
said. 

“Yes; awake and ready, Leek.” 

“Are you goin’ to hand over the gold?” 

“You know I’m not.” 

“You know I’m goin’ to get it one way or 
’nother, don’t you?” 

“I think maybe you’re not calculatin’ right.” 

“You’ve got nobody there but a handful o’ 
cowardly niggers.” 

“I s’pect you’ll have a chance to find out how 
cowardly they are.” 

Silence under the fruit trees for a breath or 
two. Then: 

“I’ve got nothin’ ag’inst you, captain, and I 
don’t want to have to fight. If it comes to that 
somebody’s goin’ to get hurt.” 

“I don’t s’pose there’s any doubt ’bout that. 
There’s ’leven men in here, and we’re goin’ to 
give an account of ourselves. Now let me tell you 



A CERTAIN BANDIT 


259 


somethin ’. You turn ’round and go back where 
you came from.” 

A derisive laugh greeted this suggestion. 

“When we’ve lined our saddle-bags with that 
frilly Frenchman’s gold we will, and not before. 
We’re not kids out playin’. We’re men, and we 
mean business!” 

“You’re damned robbers an’ scoundrels, that’s 
what you are!” shouted back Captain Pembroke; 
“and if you want the Frenchman’s gold—come 
an’ take it if you can! ” 

“All right. You’ve brought this on yourself. 
Watch out!” 

Captain Pembroke stepped quickly aside from 
the window as a half-dozen reports came rattling 
out of the shadows of the trees. The bullets 
thumped against the walls of the house and 
hummed through the window, while the crashing 
of glass told that one had found a pane. 

Dorothy rushed to the head of the stair, one 
hand on her breast. 

‘ ‘ Papa! Are you hurt 1 ’ ’ 

His laugh floated up. 

“Not even a scratch. I’ll be careful. Stay 
where you are.” 

She heard him moving swiftly about, talking 
to the slaves. 

“They can’t do any good standin’ out there 
wastin’ their powder, boys. We want to lay low 
an’ wait for ’em to rush us. That’s what they’re 
goin’ to do. All of you keep your eyes skinned. 
Mack Leek’s sly as any old fox, an’ he’s plannin’ 
a surprise, no doubt. If you see any of ’em 
creepin’ toward the house, crack down on ’em an’ 
shoot straight.” 

Following the fusillade came a long silence. 
This could mean but one thing, and that was the 
attackers were hatching deviltry. If they gained 



260 


A BLUEGRASS CAVALIER 


entrance to the house it would be by strategy, and 
Captain Pembroke determined not to be caught 
napping. Every window on the ground floor had 
a watcher, and at some two were stationed. The 
nearest cover to the house was the grove of fruit 
trees from whose shelter Leek had conducted his 
parley. And even here a broad belt of moonshine 
made any secret forward movement impossible. 
What they would do and how they would do it 
the master of the place could not surmise, but 
he ? knew full well that a plan of some sort was 
even then forming. 

A quarter of an hour passed with no sound 
from outside, but Captain Pembroke did not allow 
the false idea that the beseigers had withdrawn 
to enter his head. He knew the man who led them 
was in deadly earnest, and was probably perfect¬ 
ing some plot, hoping at the same time that the 
vigilance of the house defenders might relax. 

Suddenly a yell from the region of the kitchen 
echoed through rooms and halls, and the rifle of 
Stumptoe, who was stationed there, roared its 
challenge. There was a general rush to his 
assistance from other points, and the shotgun 
spoke next, followed by the staccato report of a 
pistol. A glance from her window showed Dor¬ 
othy three or four forms dashing across the yard 
toward the portico, a big man in the lead. He 
gained the portico first, and a moment later she 
heard the crash of his huge body against the 
staunch oak doors of the hall. Suspecting a trick 
of some kind, the doughty captain had run back 
toward the front when he saw that the attack in 
the rear had been checked, and he felt the floor 
quiver under the blow on the door. Standing in 
the darkness by the stairway he began to empty 
his big Colt’s at the thick panels which had with¬ 
stood the shock. And as Dorothy, with hands 



A CERTAIN BANDIT 


261 


gripped, mechanically turned her face again 
toward the yard, she saw a spurt of flame leap 
from the edge of the wild goose plum thicket, and 
heard a bullet tear its way into a pillar of the 
portico below. What could it mean? A wild 
hope, half formed, leaped to her mind. This was 
help, but who could it be? And who that solitary 
horseman dashing madly down from the road? 
From the shelter of the thicket a half dozen forms 
appeared, running toward the house. In front 
was a tall, lank figure which gesticulated and 
reeled and shouted as it ran. More shots blazed 
out from this band, and a tongue of fire showed 
above the racing horse’s ears as a pistol yapped 
viciously in its rider’s hand. Confusion followed. 
Dorothy leaned from her window, bewildered, 
thrilling with a breathless wish. There was a 
struggle on the portico; blows, cries and oaths. 
The horseman reined^ up with such abruptness 
that his steed came to its haunches, and dashed 
forward into the melee. The girl heard the heavy 
bolts thrown in the double front doors, and knew 
that her father had also joined the fray. Came 
now the heavy shuffling of feet, a fall, and added 
blows. But the combat was short. Such of the 
raiders as kept their feet began to run. Then 
Dorothy, taking a lace shawl, crept down to the 
landing of the stair and peeped over. A negro 
wench had lighted a lamp and come into the hall. 
Placing the light on a side table, she retreated 
rapidly. Some one was lying very still on the 
floor of the portico; she could see his legs up to 
his knees, and they looked curiously twisted. She 
shivered as she glided to the last descent. There 
was bustle and talking in the rest of the house. 
A black man passed through the hall on a trot, 
seeming gigantic and Doreesque in the imperfect 



262 A BLUEGRASS CAVALIER 


light. Then her father appeared all at once from 
outdoors. 

“Papa!” she called, her voice sounding little 
and far away, “is it over?” 

“All over, child,” he answered, cheerily; “and 
you’d better wait till we clean up a bit.” 

Feeling weak in spite of her courage the young 
lady sat down at the top of the flight. 

“You aren’t hurt the least bit, are you, papa?” 
she wanted to know. 

“Not a scratch. Crowhead got a chance bul¬ 
let in his arm and Dan got his nose mashed. ’ ’ 

He was reloading his cap and ball pistol as he 
spoke. 

“How about the other side?” the anxious voice 
went on. 

“Oh, they got what’s cornin’ to ’em, I reck’n.” 

“You’re hiding from me, papa. Who—who’s 
that with his feet sticking out in the light?” 

“That’s one o’ the bunch. I haven’t had time 
to go over the field. Some of ’em got handled 
pretty roughly, an’ they’re after the others now.” 

“Who are ‘they’? Who are the folks that 
came to our assistance? Neighbors? 

“Yes, in a way. It was that loon-headed Noey 
Mole got up the squad. Big Sam and Little Sam 
are among ’em, an’ I b’lieve I saw that fellow 
Stout, who calls himself an Englishman. They 
got here ’bout in time, I reck’n.” 

Captain Jonathan had rammed each chamber of 
the cylinder hard and tight, and was now search¬ 
ing his pockets for the small tin box which held 
the caps for the nipples. 

“Papa?” 

The word was almost timid. 

The sturdy old gentleman glanced up from his 
occupation. 



A CERTAIN BANDIT 


263 


4 4 Who was the man on horseback ?” she con¬ 
tinued. 

44 I didn’t see anybody on horseback. When I 
threw the door open some were on their own backs 
and a lively scrimmage was goin’ on.” 

44 A man rode straight down the yard and 
joined the relief squad. I saw him from up¬ 
stairs. ’ 9 

44 You did?” 

44 Yes, sir!” 

Voices sounded without and some men came into 
the hall. Among them were the Pottles and Saul 
Brentley. 

44 Bless me!” exclaimed Captain Pembroke, 
44 but I’m glad to see you all!” He began shak¬ 
ing hands right and left. 44 An’ where’s that 
addle-pated Noey, the smartest one o’ the bunch, 
an’ how’d he know this fight’s cornin’ oft? Did 
you get the ringleader? Brentley, where’d you 
come from?” He moved gladly about plying 
questions. 

4 4 The big one got away, I expect, ’ ’ drawled Big 
Sam Pottle, 4 4 but he didn’t go back the way he 
come. D’you know the scamp rode the hoss he 
stole from me? As our crowd’s cornin’ ’long the 
road we passed their hitchin ’ place, and I saw my 
white-stockin’ geldin’. I didn’t do nothin’ but 
untie ’im and lead ’im off. He’s back o’ the 
plum thicket this minute.” Big Sam laughed 
softly. 

Captain Pembroke waved his arm in a sweep¬ 
ing invitation. 

4 4 Come on back to the dinin’-room, men, and 
we’ll take somethin’ to celebrate the victory. 
. . . . Hey, Judy!”—to an unseen servant— 

44 light up in there an’ bring the big jug from the 
cellar!” 

He disappeared in the sitting-room followed by 



264 


A BLUEGRASS CAVALIER 


willing feet, and presently only one was left 
standing by the open doors gazing perplexedly 
about him. Directly he went into the parlor, re¬ 
mained a moment, then reappeared and stood at 
the foot of the stair, rubbing his chin thoughtfully 
with his hand. Then as his reluctant feet turned 
to join the crowd which had gone with the master 
of the plantation, he heard his name called. 

“Saul!” 

He stopped abruptly with an upward toss of 
his head and swept his eyes around eagerly. 
Behind the baluster at the first landing he saw 
a patch of white, and two seconds later he was 
crouching by her side. 

“Don’t, Saul! You hurt!” she whispered, 
struggling in his arms and succeeding thereby in 
drawing yet closer to him. 

He made no reply to her foolish protest, but 
fed his starved lips on the dainty manna of her 
neck and cheeks and lips—long, fervent, sound¬ 
less kisses which transported Dorothy from that 
scene of combat and death to a fairy spot where 
love made all glorious. So overcome by rapture 
was she that after a few moments she fought her 
prisoned arms loose and threw them passionately 
about the young man’s neck, straining him to her 
in a return embrace with all the might of her 
body. Then, the first storm passed, she gave a 
little shiver, placed her fair head against his neck, 
and nestled there with a tremulous sigh. The 
powerful breathing of his deep broad chest made 
her smile happily. Brentley had not spoken a 
word. The consciousness of her intimate near¬ 
ness and the abandon with which she had re¬ 
sponded to his caresses had unbalanced him for 
the time. The first sight of her huddled on the 
stair had sent his pulses thrumming and driven 
his eager feet racing upward to the bright goal 



A CERTAIN BANDIT 


265 


of her eyes. He had sunk down at her side and 
gathered her to him in silent ardor, knowing only 
the joy of beholding her again, unhurt and speak¬ 
ing his name. Then the unde finable woman-smell 
which was almost a perfume had gradually crept 
to his brain and in a measure narcotized it, for he 
was a healthy young man profoundly in love, and 
the object of his affection had made an unmis¬ 
takable manifestation of her tender feelings 
toward him. So, her warm, soft arms about his 
neck, his muscle-clothed arms in strong protec¬ 
tion about her waist, they kept in silence their 
first love-vigil together. 

From the dining-room floated sounds of was¬ 
sail. Much laughter was in evidence, jokes were 
cracked, and at last one started a song. Clad m 
a sombre wrapper, and on slippered feet which 
gave forth not even a whisper of sound, Miss 
Mehitabel made her exit from the room across 
from Dorothy’s and started to come down. Be¬ 
fore she reached the first step she saw, and draw¬ 
ing back with tightened lips, stared. How huge 
the man-lover looked in the indifferent light! 
One knee-booted leg was thrust down two steps ; 
the other hidden by white skirts aflare. And 
how small the girl-lover seemed, wrapped up and 
almost invisible in the man-lover’s arms! How 
quiet they were! Not the slightest movement. 
Their breathing had sunk again to normal and 
could not be heard. Miss Mehitabel’s hand had 
gone to her throat when she first beheld them, m 
scandalized dismay. But the ghost of something 
which she might once have known had she lis¬ 
tened to her human nature awoke, and walked in 
an empty chamber of her heart. Slowly her ex¬ 
pression" changed. There were none to see had 
it been light, and she stood in gloom. She swal- 



266 


A BLUEGRASS CAVALIER 


lowed, batted her lids quickly against the en¬ 
croaching moisture, then noiselessly withdrew. 

“Oh, Saul!” 

It was a breath of sound only, but back in the 
man’s mind when he heard it sprang a vivid pic¬ 
ture. A sheltered hollow, beech roots near a 
woodland spring, a black-haired girl tight in his 
arms even as this honey-haired girl was now, and 
that same heartfelt cry from the other’s lips— 
‘ ‘ Oh, Saul! ’ ’ He shut his eyes and shook his head 
rebelliously at the recollection which the two 
words awakened, then to cloak his action bent his 
lips to that mass of hair which when he had first 
seen he had likened to honey. And as he felt her 
quiver and cuddle in response to the kiss, he 
realized for the first time the magnitude of his 
folly back home. Jinsy was one of the other sex 
and possesed of a certain untamed, gypsy loveli¬ 
ness, and he really thought he loved her—back 
home. But now! The feeling which this ready- 
tongued, violet-eyed maiden had evoked was far 
different; it was also nameless. And he who 
would try to define love had better abandon the 
task before he begins it. 

“Saul! Saul! Saul!” 

In sighing half breaths his name was whispered 
again, as though she who uttered it could not be¬ 
lieve he was really there. 

‘‘ My Dorothy! My very own precious and only 
Dorothy!” he raved back, in a guarded under¬ 
tone. 

“What have you done since morning, and why 
are you here?” 

“Since starting Uncle Bacchus home I waited 
a thousand years for night, and ten thousand more 
till Gaston gave me an idea. ’ ’ 

She gave a low gurgle and put a palm to his 
cheek. 



A CERTAIN BANDIT 


267 


“You boy!—You sweet boy!’’ 

“And it took me nine hundred and ninety-nine 
years to ride from the cliffs here.” 

“What did thrice blessed Gaston say that sent 
you to me?” 

“He wanted a rope.” 

“W;hat for? Surely it’s not suicide with Mar¬ 
got found!” 

“No; the lad’s desperate. You see, we’ve found 
the hiding-place, but not the entrance. He swears 
he will die if he cannot speak to her. The open¬ 
ing in the cliff where she is held is about twenty 
feet from the top. I am to let him down between 
midnight and morning and he will talk with her 
through the hole.” 

“Oh, the brave fellow! Isn’t that romantic? 
He’ll surpass Romeo, won’t he Saul?” 

“I’ve learned to love him,” was the serious 
reply. 

“Did you know you came out of your way for 
your rope? New Market is much nearer.” 

With quick finger and thumb, he grasped her 
chin and twisted her face up to his. His fear was 
groundless. Her eyes, velvety black in that light, 
were flashing fun. 

“You rogue!” he chided, half seriously. “Don’t 
say those things. I’d have ridden to the other 
side of the world to have seen you to-night!” 

There was something in the quality of his 
voice, and in the very words themselves, which 
caused her to lift herself in his arms and turn 
squarely toward him. His eyes were almost 
solemn under his partly drawn brows and his lips 
had shaped to a faint smile. Impulsively she 
clasped his face in her hands and pulled it toward 
her. 

‘ ‘ Do you mean it, my Saul ? ” she demanded, and 
never before had the man heard such earnest 



268 


A BLUEGRASS CAVALIER 


words from her lips. 4 ‘Do you love me with all 
yourself—every bit of you—every atom and every 
molecule and every blood-drop in your veins 1 ’’ 

Though the words were low they were tense and 
charged with strongest emotion. Saul felt a 
tremor vibrate through the delicate fingers along¬ 
side his temples, and in the beautiful eyes so 
close to his burned fires which nothing but the 
torch of love could have kindled. He felt his 
heart leap in answer to her fervor. 

“Better than earth or heaven! Forever and 
forever!” he gravely replied, and as her white 
lids fluttered down at this assurance he pressed 
them tighter yet with his lips, then begged her to 
open them at once that he might get another 
glimpse of heaven through the portals of her 
eyes. 

From the dining-room came the strains of an 
old sea chantey led by Ephri-ham Stout, who had 
really come with the rescuers. The staves which 
he bellowed forth were more noisy than tuneful, 
and were broken by hiccoughs. 

“Who was it that was killed?” asked Dorothy, 
a little later, as she looked again for the evidence 
which had lain just outside on the portico floor. 
The man had been removed. 

“I think it was the little hoop-legged ferry¬ 
man. ’’ 

“ Oh! Jews-harp George! He was a bad man, 
but I’m sorry he ended this way. He was papa’s 
overseer at one time,” she went on, crossing her 
arms on her knees with hands dangling. “He 
fell in with Mack Leek, to be very brief, and one 
night he was caught trying to smuggle off a slave. 
Leek was to sell him and divide the price. Papa 
gave George a beating that night and discharged 
him. The ferryman at that time had grown old 



A CERTAIN BANDIT 


269 


and feeble, so George took the job. He deserved 
his fate, but I’m sorry.” 

4 4 1 remember, the first and only time I saw him, 
that he spoke bitterly of Captain Pembroke.” 

44 I think he was a half-breed of some kind, and 
very revengeful.” Then, with renewed interest: 

4 4 Too bad Mack Leek got away. I wish they could 
have captured him and jailed him.” 

44 I have a feeling that he will not be here long 
to harrass us. ’ ’ 

Dorothy turned with a hand on his arm. 

44 What do you mean?” 

44 I mean that Chavannes is longing to catch 
sight of him once more.” 

4 4 What would the slender Frenchman do in the 
grip of that giant?” 

44 I thought as you do until he showed me. I 
believe he’s made of steel—pliant steel, instead 
of sinew and flesh. I tire before he does.” 

44 You don’t!” In ready denial of aught which 
would reflect in any way upon him. 

Saul smiled at her impetuous exclamation, and 
took her hand. 

4 4 Dorothy, let us not forget in this hour of bliss¬ 
ful happiness that I ride again to-night. Already 
I have delayed at least a half hour longer than 
I should. This instant the faithful Gaston is 
pacing back and forth waiting for the moment 
of my arrival. I must go.” 

She bent toward him with newly awakened con¬ 
cern in her eyes. 

4 4 But that awful man—that Leek—will he not 
be traveling the same road? Will he not try for 
revenge now that he has lost the gold?” 

44 I believe he will.” 

Her arm brushed his shoulder and folded 
around his neck. 

4 4 Then—” but the one word was all that would 



270 A BLUEGRASS CAVALIER 


come. Her chin slowly sank till he could no 
longer see her face. 

“Then I must hasten; that is what you mean. 
Gaston is waiting for me to fulfill my trust, and 
Margot is utterly helpless should Leek wish to 
work her any harm. I do not believe he will tarry 
long, for he has played his last card and lost, 
and now he is a hunted man. I don’t want to 
frighten you needlessly, but to such as he the 
death of this girl in his power would be sweet 
recompense for his failure here.” 

“Oh, could he do such a thing!” 

“I wouldn’t put it beyond him. At the least 
he will try to spirit her away to a new hiding- 
place. Now help me find a long, stout rope, and 
I’ll be off.” 

For a moment she clung to him in silence, then 
her head came up and her gaze met his bravely. 

“Had you not better take help with you?” 

Brentley nodded toward the dining-room, 
whence issued ever-increasing sounds of hilarity. 

“There are none here in condition, and we do 
not need them, anyway. In an undertaking of 
this sort they would do more harm than good. 
Leek’s band is broken, and I suspect will scatter. 
If he rides to the cliffs it will not be with more 
than two companions at the most.” 

Dorothy checked a sigh as she arose. 

“The rope now, little girl,” reminded Brent¬ 
ley, standing beside her. “Remember hours turn 
to minutes when Cupid runs the clock.” 

They gained the hall and stopped by the table 
holding the lighted lamp. Dorothy pinched her 
lip and thought. 

“There’s no use going to papa—but wait! I’ll 
run across to the quarters and ask one of the 
men to get it,” 

“And I’ll run with you!” declared Saul. 



A CERTAIN BANDIT 


271 


The rope which was presently forthcoming 
proved to be a hempen cable strong enough to 
hang an ox. It was hurriedly measured, found 
to be long enough, and coiled. Then, a shawl 
about the girl’s shoulders because of the chill of 
the spring night, the twain walked around the 
house to where a servant had tethered Saul’s 
horse. 

44 What time is it?” asked Dorothy. 

Brentley tugged his watch from his waistcoat 
pocket. 

“Two minutes till eleven.” 

“How the time flies!” 

“Faster to-night than ever before for me.” 

44 Is your horse well rested ? He seems fagged. ’ ’ 

44 That’s his way of standing. He’ll carry me 
back as swiftly as he brought me here.” 

4 4 Saul?” 

44 Yes, dearest.” 

44 Hold me closer. I—I think I’m bewildered, 
and a little afraid, maybe.” 

Now both arms encompassed her and he bent 
his shoulders and hovered over her, protectingly. 

4 4 No wonder, sweet child. Enough has hap¬ 
pened to-night to upset anyone.” 

As he held her, she could barely see past his 
cheek up into the whitened sky. 

4 4 Saul, if the moon really were made of green 
icheese, would you try to get me a piece if I 
wanted it?” 

He laughed happily and hugged her tighter. 

4 4 Yes, indeed—and stop for a pail of milk in 
the Milky Way as I came back—you precious 
silly!” 

4 4 Then I know you love me—and now you must 
go I The thought tears at my heart. How can I 
be so selfish?” 



272 


A BLUEGRASS CAVALIER 


‘‘ All lovers are. Have I not prolonged my trip 
hither beyond all reasonable limits ?” 

‘‘ But you needed rest!’ ’ shyly. 

“Ten minutes, perhaps; certainly not an hour 
when such grave matters are ahead. Let me fas¬ 
ten my rope.” 

He tied it to the cantle of the saddle and turned. 

‘ ‘ Tell the captain why I had to go back to-night, 
and congratulate him for me on the outcome of 
this affair.” 

‘‘I will.” 

That was her sole reply, and to Brentley she 
seemed so lonely and miserable that he almost 
wished for the time there were neither Margot 
nor Gaston to drag him away. With the gathered 
reins in one fist he held out his arm and she came 
and stood against him, looking at him with big, 
troubled eyes. 

“Saul, I—believe—I—could cry!” 

‘ 6 No—no! Bid me away with a laugh instead!’ ’ 

“Promise you ’ll be careful?” 

4 4 1 will.’ ’ 

“And will rescue Margot in the morning?” 

“If humanly possible.” 

“And don’t let Mack Leek sh—shoot you!” 

“I always shoot first.” 

“Then good-bye, and God keep you till you 
come again!” 

He crushed her to him in a farewell embrace, 
and with the attar of her kiss upon his lips, flung 
astride the big chestnut and went pounding over 
the sod toward the road. 

When the far sound of galloping hoofs could 
be heard no longer Dorothy became aware that 
she was inexpressibly tired. The captain’s 
guests were beginning to leave, so she slipped 
around to the side porch and gained her room 
by a back stair. 

One long breath after she had crept to bed, and 
she was asleep. 



XXI 


Harking back to the lonely highway leading to 
the cliffs; viewing as interested spectators an 
adventure on the road, and leaving hero-number- 
two without an inch of ground to stand upon the 
while our Saul broods on sundry matters, 

Saul rode hard. Once away from the sorcery 
of Dorothy’s presence, a sense of duty deferred 
urged him to the greatest speed. While not break¬ 
ing faith with his absent comrade in adventure, 
he had in a measure strained it, and his consci¬ 
ence went to the spurs on his heels and put them 
in action. The blooded animal beneath him 
needed but the slightest touch from the pricking 
steel to make him snort, rear, then plunge for¬ 
ward like a bolt from a catapult. Though the 
night was calm the wind shrieked in Saul’s ears 
as he sped along, and the roadside trees reeled 
by him as though drunken. Not once did he 
tighten rein in brief respite from exertion for the 
running horse. Captain Pembroke had said that 
his mount was tireless, and this night Brentley 
was putting him on his mettle. But as mile after 
mile stretched behind them there was no inclina¬ 
tion on the part of the chestnut to slow up. On 
the contrary he had taken the bit in his teeth, and 
with his iron jaws clamped seemed to gather 
greater speed with each leap. Neck out, ears flat, 
mane tossing, up hill and down the terrific pace 
was maintained. Saul’s mind vacillated between 
the immediate past and the immediate future as 
he was being borne furiously along. Dorothy 
273 


274 


A BLUEGRASS CAVALIER 


was his—and the thought to his mind was as 
honey to his lips. Forgotten that hour was his 
solemn vow to Jinsy. Ahead was Gaston, fret¬ 
ting at his delay—and what else? Had Mack 
Leek taken another horse and already sped to 
his revenge? If this were true, Saul felt that he 
would be accursed forever in his own sight. He 
had dallied where white arms and warm lips and 
love-lit eyes had called, and the delay might prove 
fatal to the dear friend who had trusted him. 
The thought put a barb in his breast and he 
longed for wings. Yet a bird could scarcely go 
faster than the racer was going now. On his own 
initiative, after the first tentative suggestion from 
the spur, the horse had worked up to his maximum 
speed, and Saul knew there was no use urging, for 
he could go no faster. The straining breath from 
the beast’s tight throat came and went like the 
wheeze of a bellows, and the saddle creaked to 
the rhythmic swing of the rider. The thump of 
hoofs was regular as the strokes of a trip¬ 
hammer. Brentley fell to marveling at the won¬ 
derful endurance here displayed. And he knew 
that Captain Jonathan’s boast was not idle words. 
Such horses there were—his own favorite at home 
belonged to the breed—and they would go till 
their hearts burst before they would stop. 

He was nearing the approach to the cliff coun¬ 
try when he saw something ahead. At this point 
the road was straight for quite a distance, and 
the moonlight revealed an indistinct object in 
front. He could not make out what it was, but 
anything looked suspicious that time of night on 
this unfrequented road. He was rapidly over¬ 
taking whatever it was, and presently knew it for 
a horse and rider. Saul thought he saw the man 
look back, and then raise his right arm a number 
of times in quick succession. In the next half- 



THE LONELY HIGHWAY 


275 


minute the gap widened between them, then 
Brentley began to close in again. Nothing made 
of flesh could keep ahead of that living engine he 
bestrode. Now a suspicion found lodgment in his 
brain which caused him to shift the bridle to his 
left hand and grasp his revolver with his right. 
He drew nearer and nearer with incredible swift¬ 
ness. The other horse was doing its best, urged 
on by the whip in its rider’s hand, but its feet 
seemed weighted. A dozen more leaps, and Saul 
knew who it was. Over one shoulder streamed 
and waved a long beard, and the man’s form had 
assumed big proportions in the lessened distance. 
Brentley felt his heart harden as he raised his 
arm and curved his forefinger around the trigger 
of his weapon. But the wave of primal hate 
passed as quickly as it came, and he lowered his 
hand. Whatever the vile Mack Leek had done, 
this would be murder. He thundered by the out¬ 
law as a swallow would outwing a crow', speaking 
no word, and with scarcely a glance. Then he 
had cause to bless the flying hoofs which bore him 
on so swiftly, together with the mellow moon¬ 
shine which dropped its illusive veil behind him. 
For the still night roared all at once with the 
crash of a pistol* again and again, as the mis¬ 
creant bandit tried savagely for the life of Saul. 
Brentley heard the bee-like hum of one bullet by 
his head, but the rest must have gone wild. If 
his brave horse were hit he gave no sign, but 
tore on in the direction of the gullied, deserted 
land which was his goal. Not over two miles and 
they would be there, where Chavannes was chaf¬ 
ing and wondering. 

Then Saul suddenly felt a tremor between his 
tight-held knees. The slender, shapely barrel 
which had borne him so bravely and well wav¬ 
ered and rocked, and as he kicked free from the 



276 A BLUEGRASS CAVALIER 


stirrups, intuitively sensing disaster, the noble 
animal came crashing to the earth. The man 
alighted upon his feet and sprang away. Rolling 
upon its side as though to rest, the big chestnut 
moved its forelegs once or twice, feebly, made an 
effort to rise, then snorting bloody foam from 
its nostrils, quivered and lay still. 

From down the road came the steady thud of 
other hoofs. A bush growing densely by the old 
rock fence gave the necessary suggestion. A 
short time later Saul crouched behind it, the 
hempen rope on one arm and his revolver in hand. 
He was reasonably sure that his oncoming enemy 
had not reloaded, and but for the sheath knife 
which he carried was unarmed. Brentley made 
his plan in the fraction of a minute, and, peering 
through the leaves, leaped to the middle of the 
highway at the right time and covering the ban¬ 
dit, ordered a halt. Mack Leek pulled up with an 
angry curse, observed the carcass lying partly in 
the shadow of the fence, and chuckled. 

‘ 4 1 thought I’d get one of you! ’ ’ he cried. 

Saul ignored the remark. 

‘ ‘ You ’ll oblige me by getting off that horse!” 
he said, coldly. 

“What? You Ye goin’ to try my game, are 
you, and be a highwayman too ? ’ ’ 

The speech was uttered with a malicious sneer, 
and now the keen eyes of Brentley saw the big 
fellow working covertly with one hand at his belt. 

“Don’t try to throw that knife,” he ordered, 
‘ ‘ or you ’re a dead one! I know you ’re desperate, 
but there’s no use killing yourself. Drop that 
knife at once, or I’ll shoot!” 

He advanced two steps nearer as he spoke. The 
outlaw hesitated. 

“Drop it, I say!” 



THE LONELY HIGHWAY 


277 


Then an object which glinted in the moonlight 
was tossed to the roadside. 

44 That’s your empty pistol,” spoke Saul, his 
tones indicating rising wrath. “Are you going 
to make me kill you? I have warned you the last 
time. Be quick! ’ ’ 

Venting his rage in unintelligible mutterings, 
Leek whipped the knife from its sheath and flung 
it after the other w T eapon. 

“Now ’re you satisfied, whipper-snapper?” he 
growled. 

“Only partly. Get off that horse.” 

“What’re you goin’ to do?” 

“Attend to some business.” 

“If you take my horse it’ll be robbery, and 
here we treat horse thieves like we do murderers. ’ ’ 

This unparalleled impudence might have ren¬ 
dered Brentley desperate had it not amused him. 
He retorted: 

‘ ‘ Then I wonder how you have escaped so long, 
for your occupation is thieving. Not only stealing 
horses as you stole from the Pottles a few nights 
ago, but it would appear helpless young women 
as well. And that is one reason why I don’t send 
a bullet through you now, and be done with you. ’ ’ 

Mack Leek bent forward over the neck of his 
tired mount. 

“What do you mean?” he asked, curiously. 

“I mean that if you persist in your deviltry the 
lover of the girl you have so mistreated will liter¬ 
ally cut your flesh from your bones in strips. He 
is waiting on the cliffs whither I journey in a 
very few moments. And he wants to see you— 
just once.” 

The other tried to laugh derisively, but no mirth 
showed. 

“Now I’ve talked to you as long as I care to,” 



278 A BLUEGRASS CAVALIER 


resumed Saul. “Get down and stretch out flat 
on that grass over there. ’ ’ 

“What for?” 

“Because I told you to, in the first place, and 
because in the second place, I’m going to truss 
you up well.” 

W;ith expostulations and threats of vengeance 
which fell on heedless ears, Mack Leek swung 
himself to the ground next to that side of the 
road where he had tossed his weapons. 

“You have a queer left-handed way of getting 
off a horse,” observed Brentley, coolly. “Now, 
you crafty devil!” he continued, advancing rap¬ 
idly, “go to the other side of the road where I 
told you to go, and stretch out. And if you want 
to see another sunrise on this earth, don’t even 
crook your finger! ’ ’ 

Driving the stubborn man to do his bidding at 
the point of a pistol, Saul quickly had him bound 
tightly, arms and legs. 

“Now you may lie there a while and meditate 
upon your sins and the advisability of choosing a 
new field for your operations,” counselled the 
young man as he arose from making the last knot 
fast. “And remember. If, when you have suc¬ 
ceeded in freeing yourself, which you probably 
will do in time, you dare to re-arm and seek to 
molest us in our efforts, you are doomed. Think 
of that before you go to sleep.” 

The prostrate giant made no reply. 

Saul regarded him a moment longer, mentally 
reviewing his work on ankles, knees and wrists, 
then crossing the road picked up his enemy’s 
revolver and knife. The former he threw into the 
adjoining field as far as his arm could hurl it, 
and the latter, after a moment’s deliberation, fol¬ 
lowed. Then, with a farewell glance of compas¬ 
sion at the beast which had proved faithful unto 



THE LONELY HIGHWAY 


279 


death, he silently mounted the bandit’s horse and 
resumed his journey. 

His progress was much slower from this point, 
and when he came to the rendezvous it was to find 
Chavannes almost frantic, pacing back and forth 
like a chained bear, while, lying to one side, Rod¬ 
erick Dhu watched him with calm eyes. It was the 
ever attentive ear of the devoted collie which first 
heard footsteps, for Saul had dismounted and 
hitched some distance away. And it was the dog 
rising and trotting eagerly forward to welcome 
his returning master which caused the all but 
demented Frenchman to halt and stare around. 
The coiled rope caught his roving eye as quickly 
as he discerned his friend, and he was dashing 
forward like a deer from cover. 

“Oh, Saul! I thought you would never come! 
Yet you have brought me what I wished, and how 
I thank you! . . . But what has happened?” 

“Everything.” 

The speaker bent to pat the head of Dhu. 

“But if you are to talk to Margot to-night the 
tale must wait. It is long. ’’ 

“And is all well at the homestead?” 

“All well, but there’s been a fight. The story 
must wait. In the morning you shall hear. We 
must move swiftly. Dawn comes within two 
hours. ’ ’ 

Chavannes caught the note of weariness which 
could not be hidden. 

“My Saul, you are tired!” he protested, in 
quick sympathy. ‘ 4 Heaven only knows what you 
have been through in addition to your long ride. 
I can wait, and you must sleep. ’ ’ 

“No, no. There is too much to do to sleep. 
That can come later. Are you ready? We must 
work rapidly.” 



280 


A BLUEGRASS CAVALIER 


Gaston threw his arm around the broad shoul¬ 
ders in a gesture of affection. 

44 Never was there such a friend!” he declared 
fervently. 4 4 Let us go! ’ ’ 

Chavannes in a fever of excitement at the pros¬ 
pect of soon exchanging speech with his beloved. 
Brentley quiet and thoughful as he strove to un¬ 
riddle the secret of the cavern, the friends made 
fairly swift progress with the aid of the moon. 
Again the impatient Gaston was eager to bear in 
toward the river long before the proper time, and 
again the cooler Saul restrained him. It was near 
three o ’clock in the morning when, after laborious 
search and repeated failures, they found the spot 
for which they were seeking. Directly across the 
chasm the dead oak upreared which was to guide 
them, ghostly and gray. At the place which they 
mutually agreed was the best one from which the 
ardent lover was to make his descent, the earth 
sloped at a dull angle for a half-dozen yards to 
the stone lip of the canon. And there, by fortui¬ 
tous chance and not over three feet from the 
brink, a tough, sturdy little oak was rooted. 

Saul pointed. 

4 ‘The Fates favor us,” he said. “On this in¬ 
cline, without that scrub tree, and no place for a 
foothold, I could not help you.” 

“Heaven is kind!” breathed the grateful 
Frenchman. “Is it strong?” He indicated the 
loosened coils which the other was already begin¬ 
ning to manipulate. 

Saul’s lips relaxed from the tired set which 
had held them.. 

“Kentucky hemp,” he explained. “There is 
nothing stronger from which ropes are made. ’ 9 

Already he had constructed a loop in one end— 
a stationary loop, and not a running noose. 

“This is for your foot,” he said. “You will 



THE LONELY HIGHWAY 


281 


stand in this with almost as little exertion as you 
would on land. My idea is to circle the trunk of 
the tree once, and make it bear the strain. When 
you are below I can wrap a number of times and 
rest for the task of pulling you back. ’ ’ 

‘ 4 Then let’s begin. My heart is near suffocat¬ 
ing me. I will whistle softly, after the manner 
of a night-bird I have heard in this wilderness, 
when I am down far enough.” 

Without more ado they made their way care¬ 
fully to the scrub oak, Saul having ordered Dhu 
to remain behind and keep quiet. 

“There is risk, you know,” warned Brentley, 

‘ ‘ something might happen which would drop you 
—a sharp-edged stone to wear the strands which 
support you, a blunder of mine.” 

The eager lover’s foot was in the loop to his 
instep as he answered: 

“Had the rope to pass over drawn swords, yet 
would I make the effort. Do you not love, too, 
and do you not understand!’’ 

“Verily I love, my Gaston, and I believe I know 
why you dare the depths in this wise. Are you 
ready!” And as Chavannes lithely crept to the 
treacherous verge of that awful precipice, and 
dropped upon his stomach to go over feet first— 
“Whistle a second time when you are ready to 
come up.” 

“Nay, for I fear that would be never. Let me 
remain as long as it is safe, and when you begin 
to pull I will know my time is up. I am over. 
Let out slowly.” 

With the thick rope around the staunch tree, 
which also bore the burden of his weight with his 
feet braced at its root, Saul began to pay out. 
The task proved surprisingly easy, for the close- 
fibred wood took the strain instead of his own 
sinews, and as he carefully paid out foot after 



282 


A BLUEGRASS CAVALIER 


foot, there presently rose from the gulf a low, 
clear whistle, drifting up like an echo. Brentley 
at once wound and rewound the slack remaining, 
made it secure with a knot, then clambered back 
to where the collie crouched with inquisitive mien, 
his busy tail beginning to thump as his master 
drew near. Saul sat by the faithful animal and 
drew forth pipe and pouch. He figured that Cha- 
vannes would remain a half hour, and perhaps 
longer, did not the coming day interfere. His 
affectionate ardor and his steel-like frame would 
combine to continue his tryst to almost any limit. 
He would hold converse with his sweetheart. Saul 
knew the man, and knew that he would waken 
the girl even if he had to arouse the hag as well. 
He had gone down the cliffs with a purpose as 
indomitable as Fate, and he would not come back 
until he had accomplished his errand. 

The night was absolutely still and windless. 
Sitting cross-legged with misty smoke-wreaths 
floating from his lips and one hand buried in 
Dhu’s yellow ruff, Saul’s thoughts took a deeper 
trend than they had for many hours hitherto. 
What of affairs back home? How was his father 
doing, and Aunt Emmeline? Was the Colonel’s 
acute attack of gout conquered, and had Dr. Van 
Wyck been able to keep his patient from the bot¬ 
tle? He thought of Jorkins, and believed he could 
be trusted with the management of the big estate. 
Then of Sime, the devoted old darky who had 
half carried him up the back stair that night and 
had literally taken his clothes off and put him to 
bed. Then had all but told a lie to shield the 
young man from the wrath of his father. The 
blubbering Abe’s good-bye, and the half insane, 
harrowing manner in which the Colonel had be¬ 
haved at their farewell interview. Then, crowd 
her from his mind as he would, came Jinsy, to 



THE LONELY HIGHWAY 


283 


whom he was plighted for life with a solemn vow! 
Jinsy, with the Romany lnre of body; firm-breast¬ 
ed,, hot-breathed, flame-cheeked, lawless. A shiver 
raced over Saul’s entire frame as the night came 
back when he left her in the hollow. It was not 
his aristocratic name and fertile acres which she 
wanted. It was he. And a great, peculiar joy 
and peace stole over him now when he remembered 
how he had kept his head when she lost hers, and 
drew herself to him with her palms upon the 
ground. But what of Jinsy when he went home ? 
It was only a few days since he left, and now 
a newer and truer love had already found him. 
Oh, how different this was! Dorothy, humanly 
sweet and charming as Jinsy, yet moved in an aura 
of half-mystic womanhood; was enveloped aud 
surrounded as by some invisible essence which 
evoked something akin to a worship spirit in her 
lover. Did Jinsy have this too? Not for him. 
She was warm and palpitating with animal life, 
but nothing more. What of her when he went 
home? The question kept recurring, and each 
time it bulked bigger. She had no claim on him 
other than his oath, but what greater could she 
wish? Was he not a Kentucky gentleman, born 
and bred, and would he not keep a vow though it 
cast him in the dirt? And vet how could he keep 
it? Dorothy he loved, and Jinsy he loved not. 
The problem must be solved, and quickly. It was 
not the first time in the history of human affairs 
that Honor and Love had clashed. Some yielded 
to one and some to the other, but for his very life 
Brentley could not tell that night which would 
claim him. 



XXII 


Confiding to all who care to know how a Cheva¬ 
lier of France made love to his lady in a setting 
unique in affairs of the heart, and drawing near 
to the mystery of the hidden chamber. 

The moon shone obliquely upon the ages-old 
wall of grayish stone against which Gaston Cha- 
vannes hung suspended with nothing more than 
some twisted strands beneath one foot His de¬ 
scent had not been entirely free from obstructions. 
The surface of the wall did not present the aspect 
of a shorn cheese. There were irregularities in it, 
knots and protuberances of stone, ledges of great¬ 
er or lesser depth. But these were easily passed. 
His great fear had been that they had missed the 
exact location, and it was needful for the success 
of his scheme that he be let down on one or the 
other side of the narrow opening rather than di¬ 
rectly in front of it. He went slowly, inch by inch, 
and though actual fright did not for once come 
near the intrepid lover, he realized keenly the 
situation in which he was being placed. He 
thought of the loyal heart above him whose strong 
devotion and equally strong arm made it all pos¬ 
sible, and breathed a blessing on Saul’s head. 
Down and down. His left side was to the wall; 
his face upstream. Fog had arisen, and his vision 
was so obstructed by it that he could see but a 
short distance. But it seemed to him that they 
had judged aright. He began to doubt if the rope 
were long enough, for they must have gone many 
feet. Then his hand, sliding along the' limestone 


IN THE HIDDEN CHAMBER 


285 


surface to assist in steadying his equilibrium, 
came abruptly to vacancy. With a thrill he found 
that he had arrived. The jagged fissure was at 
his side—a black, irregular scar on the brighter 
background. He forthwith gave the signal of 
which he had spoken, and instantly became sta¬ 
tionary. 

For a few moments he was silent, dreading to 
speak lest the old crone should likewise hear. It 
was then there came to his ears the ceaseless rush 
of water from below, the never-ending voice of 
the river singing to the night. He thought of her 
falling to sleep every evening to this lullaby; he 
wondered if it would" soothe her slumbers so that 
she would be hard to waken. But conjecture of 
this sort was fruitless. Saul had said the dawn 
was not far away. He must act. Placing his face 
near the opening he called her in scarcely more 
than a whisper. 

“Margot!” 

Only the ceaseless murmur of the river made 
reply. 

Listening with inclined ear for the slightest 
sound from within and hearing nothing, he called 
again, a little louder. 

‘ ‘ Margot!” 

Again the river gurgled and dimpled at the 
moon and went its way, but within the pitch-black 
cave there was no sound. Strain his ears as he 
would, he could not even detect any breathing. 
He divined that Margot, slept silently, but he 
doubted that her companion did. The moments 
were racing. 

i 6 Margot! Margot! ’ 9 

Sharper than ever the call was shot through 
the crevice, and the ear which the man turned 
told him that some one stirred, and there was a 



286 


A BLUEGRASS CAVALIER 


sound which was half sigh and half moan. He 
followed it up, eagerly: 

“My Margot!—darling! C’est moi —your own 
Gaston! Here! outside the cliff; over the river! 
Come quickly for just a word—oh, mon Dieu! 
Mon Dieu!” 

For out of the darkness two arms had leaped 
to tug at his neck and a white, startled face with 
proffered lips bloomed mistily before his sur¬ 
prised gaze. 

The kiss which followed lasted seconds or cen¬ 
turies; Gaston could never tell which. Clinging 
with one hand to the rent rock, the rope looped 
under his shoulder, his other arm went back of the 
girl’s shoulder to force her nearer to him. In the 
ecstasy of that supreme moment time and place 
were both absorbed and lost as each hungry soul 
fed on the other’s love. The thickening fog set¬ 
tled damply over the man; the river sang and 
murmured as before, and the stars kept watch 
over this weird tryst. At last lips were reluct¬ 
antly torn from lips and the girl spoke first, 
whispering past his cheek. 

i ‘How is it you are here, zis way? I under stan’ 
not. My head swim. Oh, Gaston! Can it be 
true?” 

He told her briefly and quickly, and her warm 
breath beat upon his mouth and face, for they 
still clung together. 

“0 my brave, true lover! How wonderful you 
are!” she panted. “To sink what you have 
dared!” 

“I’d have leveled this cursed mountain of stone 
to its base—for you!” he vowed, meaning every 
word. ‘ ‘ Does the old woman sleep ? ’ ’ 

“Yes, and soundly—Jesus be praised! How I 
have pray to ze Holy Mother! An’ now, you 
come! ’ ’ 



IN THE HIDDEN CHAMBER 


287 


4 4 My precious Margot !” he breathed, and 
glimpsing the brightness of her eyes their lips 
met again in a long, soundless caress. 

“I am bewildered,’’ said Chavannes, after a 
time. “So much to say: so much to discuss—and 
my poor brain is asleep. I can only say over and 
over 4 1 love you, ’ ‘ I love you ’!’ ’ 

“I love you!” she echoed, and her white teeth 
gleamed through the shadows. 6 ‘I sink I could 
stay here forever jus’ to hear zat. I am happy, 
happy, who sought I would never know happiness 
once more.’’ 

“How long have you been in this hole?” he 
asked, striving to pierce with his gaze the im¬ 
penetrable darkness beyond. 

She sighed, and stroked his forehead lightly. 

“Eight—nine—maybe ten days. It seem like 
years. ’ ’ 

“The devil who brought you here will pay to 
me, my bright little flower. And your jailer?” 

“Say no ill of her, poor ol’ woman! She is 
kin an’ she has suffer—oh, she has suffer much! 
Ze wonder is her heart not break. She fear her 
master an’ I sink she owe him a kin’ness debt. 
She tol’ me of her sad life, an’ I weep wiz her, 
poor sing.” 

“Have you had plenty to eat and drink?” 

“Yes, ver’ good. It keep ’way hunger. It is 
fear zat has ’mos’ kill me.” 

“How did you get to this place, my own? Try 
to think. If we could only bear you safely away 
in the morning ! 9 9 

1 ‘1 try , 9 9 answered the girl, perplexedly. “ You 
don’ know how I try—ever’ day. But zey made 
me smell somezin , an’ I go to sleep. I wake up 
here. In ze day I look all ’bout, but zero’s no 
openin’ but zis, none.” 

‘ ‘ There is another way, my Margot. It is hid- 



288 


A BLUEGRASS CAVALIER 


den so you cannot find it. See! You could not 
have passed through here. And your food—how 
does it come?” 

She shook her head despondently. 

“I know not. Always in ze night sometime.” 
Then, brightening a moment later: “How is 
DorThy?” 

“Well, and happy as may be without your free¬ 
dom, seeing she is deeply in love. ’ ’ 

44 Dor Thy in love! She use ’ to tell me she would 
never trus ’ any man . 9 ’ 

“That was partly because she was young and 
foolish, and partly because the man had not come. 
It is he who got your note, who found your cave, 
and who, having let me down, sits above this in¬ 
stant in sleepless misery in order that we might 
see each other.” 

4 4 If Dor Thy love not such a ’ one, I would! ’’ 

But the caress which followed allayed any jeal¬ 
ousy the words might have aroused. 

So for a long time they whispered back and 
forth while Sis Tomperby lay sleeping, uncon¬ 
scious of the mighty fact that love laughs at bolts 
and bars and will likewise find a way. Two old 
truisms which none can refute. Gaston did not 
know that the foot in the loop was aching ter¬ 
ribly, and Margot was totally oblivious of the fact 
that a lighter tinge had been gradually creeping 
into the fog bank. But each heard a whistle 
which dropped to their ears from overhead. 
Chavannes gave a gesture of annoyance. 

4 4 ’Tis he—Saul! He is signaling that it is time 
to go up. Only a moment has he allowed me!” 
The rope began to vibrate in his hand. 4 4 Good¬ 
bye, my sweetheart ! We will come soon. Be 
ready!” He felt himself beginning to ascend. 
44 A last kiss!—Tiptoe and you can!—Ah! Sweeter 
than all was that!” Then began steady pulls on 



IN THE HIDDEN CHAMBER 


289 


the rope, each of which brought him up five or 
six inches. “Farewell! Be brave! We come 
soon!—I love you!” Looking down at the spot 
he had left, he saw a small hand waved like the 
pinion of a white bird adrift in the nebulous 
vapor, and smiled. 

It was little or nothing he could do to assist his 
comrade above. He could not lighten his weight, 
and he must needs depend entirely upon the 
physical strength of his friend. Twice he stopped 
on his slow upward journey, and each time he 
knew that the worn man at the other end of the 
rope was taking brief rest. Then the fog lessened, 
and soon he was at the cliff edge and pulling him¬ 
self over it. Here he noticed that the first flush 
of day had indeed come, and in the wan light was 
Saul, both feet planted against the friendly scrub 
oak, his neck muscles bulging and face tinged and 
distorted by his fearful exertions. Hastily now 
the grateful Gaston scrambled forward, and 
Brentley lay back upon the ground, flinging his 
arms wide and getting his breath in deep gulps. 
But when the alarmed Frenchman bent over him 
it was to find his face a-smile and a gleam of 
humor in his tired eyes. 

“Next time you go courting in this manner, 
mon ami,” grumbled Brentley, between heaves, 
“you must rig up a painter’s scaffold.” 

Chavannes sank to his thigh and clasped his 
friend’s hand. 

“No one in Normandy could be truer or better 
or braver than you! I think I love your Ken¬ 
tucky now.” ^ n o. 1 

“Good! She’s deserving it!” grunted Saul, 
loyally. . . . “ Did you wake Ma’mselle Mar¬ 

got of the cherry lips—and did you taste them? 

For an instant Chavannes puzzled between a 
frown and a smile, but the doubt was so fleeting 



290 


A BLUEGRASS CAVALIER 


as not to be noticed. His grave face lighted with 
a pleased remembrance. 

“I woke her—yes.” 

Brentley waved his hand. 

4 ‘No need to go further with my question, then. 
And the hag?” 

‘ 4 Still sleeps, I trust. At least she did not dis¬ 
turb us for the minute you gave me.” 

‘ ‘ Minute!’ 9 echoed Saul. ‘ ‘ Young man, for one 
hour and fifteen minutes, you hung to that happy 
little tree, which Providence must have sown years 
ago to prepare for this contingency! ” 

4 ‘You jest! It is not possible! Just a greet¬ 
ing—a word—and I hear your wdiistle ! 9 9 

“ ’Tis folly to argue with a man in love, but 
your contention speaks well for the quality of 
your affection.” Then, with a smile: “Did not 
I myself spend just such a minute as you mention 
not five hours ago? Come. I think we are a 
precious pair of lunatics in need of keepers, but 
time presses and danger is near. ’ 9 Brentley arose 
to his feet, yawning. “Did your Dulcinea have 
no suggestion which would help us in our next 
move ? 9 9 

Gaston’s countenance was worried as he began 
to coil the rope. 

“You need sleep. Yesterday was one of effort, 
and last night even worse for you. Your eyes 
have not closed. Take two hours—or even one.” 

“And are you not in like case? How many 
winks did you get while I sat with Dorothy? It 
seems our score is even . 9 9 

“And yet I do not feel it. If anything I am 
more awake, and vigorous. You look almost ex¬ 
hausted. 9 9 

Saul stretched his arms and breathed deeply. 

“ ’Twould be criminal for either of us to sleep 
now, my Frenchman. Let’s back to the horses, 



IN THE HIDDEN CHAMBER 291 


where we will eat, and drink some spirits I have 
with me. As we walk I will tell you why we must 
act quickly and to effect.” 

The rope flung over his shoulder, Chavannes 
joined his friend without replying. As they 
walked swiftly away Brentley gave a brief recital 
of all that had befallen the previous night, A 
short exclamation broke from Gaston now and 
then, but when he heard how Mack Leek had 
been overtaken on his sinister errand back to the 
cliffs, a low oath escaped his lips. 

“I warned him,” continued Saul, “but a warn¬ 
ing to such as he at such a time is words thrown 
away. I told him, too, that you were here and 
waiting for the sight of him once more. ’ ’ 

Chavannes’ hands were working; were closing 
into fists and opening again spasmodically. 

“Oh, I fear that he will not come!” he mur¬ 
mured. “I fear that you have frightened him 
away! The Bearded Devil!” 

The last three words were hissed between shut 
teeth. 

“Don’t let that thought give you concern,. 
Saul assured him. “I suspect he is free of his 
bonds long ere this, for he is strong and cunning. 
And that is why we dare not think of rest. For 
he will instantly set his face toward this secret 
cavern, and you must remember that the way is 
open to him.” 

Gaston turned his eyes upon his friend, and 
again Saul saw that awful, unearthly, merciless 
light in them which he had seen once a short time 
before. They were positively sulphurous with 
hate and seemed to emit colored sparks. He be¬ 
gan to speak, in a strained, suppressed manner. 

“And we are helpless— helpless, unless we can 
intercept him, or find the passage. Is’t not 
enough to take the mind of one and leave him 



292 


A BLUEGRASS CAVALIER 


stark mad? How can we search with method in 
this tortured land, and how can we espy a creep¬ 
ing assassin when every rock and tree and hollow 
and bush is a hiding-place? Tell me, Saul. Give 
me hope, or I go crazy! ’ ’ 

He struck his forehead with his fist and ran 
his fingers wildly through his hair. 

“We must be calm, above all things,’’ advised 
Brentley, but his own face was troubled, for the 
difficulties just enumerated were all too real. A 
moment later: “I should have put a ball through 
the villain’s heart,” 

There was no reply, and they proceeded in 
silence till they came to the sequestered spot 
where they had temporarily camped. Soon they 
were hastily partaking of the food already pre¬ 
pared which Uncle Bacchus had brought. Gaston 
seemed in the grip of an icy calm now. His nat¬ 
urally colorless features had become chalky, and 
his burning black eyes produced almost a grue¬ 
some effect. He was evidently holding himself 
in check by the exercise of great reserve will 
power, realizing the absolute necessity of control 
under whatever conditions might arise. 

“Would it not be well to watch the road?” he 
asked, with lips which barely moved to let the 
words pass. 

“Leek will detour,” was the prompt reply. 
“His craft is great, and he knows these hills well. 
Our main hope lies in the strength of the hemp 
with which I tied him. Then it is early morning, 
and the road is not travelled much, so there is 
small chance for him to be released by anyone. 
Our case is far from desperate.” He cast a good¬ 
ly morsel to the waiting Dhu and produced a 
bottle of liquor. “Here, if you have finished eat¬ 
ing, take several swallows of this. It will put 
new life in you and give you added strength.” 



IN THE HIDDEN CHAMBER 293 


Both drank the whisky, though not copiously, 
for Saul had been warned by experience of its 
subtle power. 

It was just sunup. 



XXIII 


Showing how a collie dog can he of service in an 
entirely unexpected way; making clear the secret 
of Margot’s prison-place; and concluding in a 
manner which the narrator earnestly hopes the 
reader will approve. 

i i Had yon thought of the cabin where we found 
the stores as offering a possible clue?” 

Chavannes spoke, still softly and in a con¬ 
strained voice. 

Brentley was standing with head bent, the 
fingers of one hand curved around his chin. 

“No; I hadn’t.” 

‘ 1 It might be built over the spot we seek . 1 ’ 

Love for his Margot was driving the brain of 
the Frenchman to increased action. 

“The cave in the cliff seems too far away.” 

“But I have read of your country. Does it not 
hold caverns where miles are piled upon miles ? 11 

‘ ‘ It does. Your idea is worth investigating. ’’ 

Glancing at the horses tethered in a gully to 
his left, and seeing that they were well secured 
and busy munching corn, Saul at once led the 
way to the dilapidated structure which they had 
stumbled upon two days before. Entering by 
means of the key, they found the provisions un¬ 
disturbed. Everything was exactly as it had been 
as well as they could determine. The rough floor 
was dirty and dusty and partly decayed, as 
Brentley discovered when he began to scrape 
around upon it with the toe of his boot. 

294 


THE FIGHT 


295 


“No trap-door here, my boy,” he announced. 
“I doubt if a plank has been lifted since it was 
first nailed down. But to be sure, here is a loose 
one I’ll raise.” He tugged at the piece of wood 
and soon flung it clattering aside. Lighting a 
match, he examined the ground beneath. “As I 
thought, there’s nothing. We must look further. ’ ’ 

Outside, they stood for a few moments in silent 
perplexity. There was nothing to indicate which 
course they should pursue, yet prompt action was 
imperative. 

“Let’s work back toward the cave,” said Saul. 
“I see a kind of ravine yonder which parallels 
in a general way the course of the river. I be¬ 
lieve that is our best chance. ’ ’ 

“Anything, so it is action,” returned Gaston. 
“To stand here another five minutes would kill 
me! ” 

A short time later found them trudging along 
the bed of a dry watercourse with rather precipi¬ 
tous sides. These sides were ribbed in places 
with outjutting stone's, a fact which gave Brentley 
encouragement. They were also scored with little 
sluices where the soil was free from vegetation, 
and dotted here and there with bushes and matted 
growth of vines. The ravine appeared to be the 
main conduit for the water from heavy rains, for 
as they proceeded they found that smaller ones 
debouched into it. Progress was difficult in places 
on account of boulder-like obstructions, but it 
was not until they had covered nearly two miles, 
as well as Saul could estimate, that he advised a 
halt. Chavannes had been walking with head 
down, for the time leaving his companion to look 
for the possible opening, and as Saul stopped with 
the suggestion that they rest a while, the French¬ 
man pointed to a stone about six feet further on 



296 


A BLUEGRASS CAVALIER 


which glistened damply. A second later both were 
kneeling beside it, 

‘ ‘ Turned over by a hasty foot,’ 9 observed Saul. 

“By the heel of the Bearded Devil ,’ 9 supple¬ 
mented Gaston, his finger resting on a glancing 
scar on the top of the stone near its edge. 

Moved by a common impulse, two pairs of eyes 
sought the side of the ravine. Nothing was re¬ 
vealed. Its slant was a little less steep, and at 
its top stood Roderick Dhu, who had been ranging 
for some time. The dog sighted his master, and 
after a moment’s hesitation began to descend. 
Ten feet down the crumbling soil tripped him, his 
struggles threw him off his balance, and he began 
sliding and rolling alternately. Over half way 
to the bottom he collided with a bush, bounced 
oft into a mass of vines at which he clawed des¬ 
perately, and brought up presently on his feet, 
unhurt. But neither man had eyes for the dog 
now. Watching his rapid career, they had seen 
his paws tear the thick vines asunder, and back 
of the rent was blackness—an aperture in the 
direction of the river! 

The friends rushed forward, but Gaston gained 
it first. 

“Let us pray we have found the right one,” 
breathed Saul. 

“Look where his foot has slipped!” returned 
the sharp-eyed Chavannes. “Follow me, my com¬ 
rade, and be quick! ’ ’ 

They entered stooping, and saw they w T ere in a 
subterranean corridor encompassed entirely with 
stone, and leading south. Saul ordered Dhu to 
remain outside. Turning- 

“I think luck is with us,” he said, “if there 
are no ramifications.” 

“We must take any risk now,” was the tense 
reply. “Remember, she is practically alone. I’ll 



THE FIGHT 


297 


take the right wall and yon the other. Keep your 
hand constantly upon it, and if either come to a 
break in the surface we will light a match. Come.” 

They began their advance in a crouching pos¬ 
ture because of the low roof, and were soon in 
total darkness, darkness so dense that it seemed 
almost a substance. Chavannes moved with mar¬ 
velous rapidity, considering that a pit might await 
each step, but he had temporarily cast aside all 
caution. His all-important mission was to succor 
the girl he loved in her hour of distress and 
danger. One hand outheld before his face to 
guard against any possible stalactite or drop in 
the roof, the other lightly feeling the wall, he 
moved on the balls of his feet, in all but a run. 
His friend was put to it to keep the pace, but 
he loyally pressed forward and managed never 
to be out of hearing of the other's steps. It would 
seem that a relenting Fate indeed had taken 
charge of their destinies now, for, with only a 
slight curve here and there, the passage was tra¬ 
versed without difficulty, even in that Stygian 
night. Suddenly Gaston stopped with a subdued 
exclamation. Saul reached his side, whispering: 

“What is it?” 

4 4 1 heard voices! ’ ’ 

44 Are you sure?” 

4 4 Listen!” 

Muffled tones were indeed filtering to their ears. 
The first they heard were thin and sounded far 
off. Then followed the rumble of a man's voice, 
echoing like low thunder through the terrible 
silence. Chavannes' teeth clicked, and he was 
gone. When he had followed a dozen paces Saul 
saw a match flare. The next moment he had 
entered a low, cramped chamber, which marked 
the end of the corridor. Gaston, breathing inco¬ 
herent mutterings, was moving around the rough- 



298 


A BLUEGRASS CAVALIER 


ly circular walls, a lighted match between finger 
and thumb, searching desperately for another 
opening. There was none, as Brentley could see 
at a glance. Their corridor was a blind alley, 
had led them nowhere. And as the Frenchman’s 
brain finally accepted this, it proved a little more 
than he could endure. He sank upon a large stone 
partially imbedded at one side, and despairingly 
hid his face in his hands. 

Saul stood in the gloom and did the hardest bit 
of thinking to which he had ever subjected his 
mind. They had heard voices. It could not have 
been imagination. Somewhere near at hand were 
Margot LaTour, Mack Leek, and the kind-hearted 
hag, Sis Tomperby. In their last rush they might 
have missed a bisecting passage. That seemed 
the only possible solution, and taking a match 
from his pocket he was preparing to investigate, 
when the rough voice of the bandit boomed out, 
apparently so close that the young fellow jumped 
and dropped his hand to his pistol. 

“Are you cornin’ or not?” the voice demanded. 
“I ain’t got time to fool away. If you’ll come 
peaceable, all right. If you won’t, I’ve got more 
o’ that stuff to put you to sleep!” 

Saul’s match blazed up as Chavannes leaped to 
his side and clutched his arm. 

“Has God forgotten us and sent the devil to 
torment us?” he hissed, his face drawn. 
“Sh-h-h-h!” 

A woman’s clear treble was answering. 

“I will not go wiz you, m’sieu!” 

“You won’t!” A short laugh. “Why, I could 
pinch you in two like I would a weed. . . . 

Are her clothes all ready, Sis?” 

The crone’s reply came less distinctly. 

“In this bundle, sir.” 

“All right. . . . Young lady, I’m goin’ to 



THE FIGHT 


299 


give you your last chance. I tell you that fur’ner 
’an that meddlin’ friend o’ his are nosin’ aroun’ 
here, an’ we’ve got to hide over. For the last 
time—are you cornin’?” 

“No, m’sieu!” instantly and bravely. 

Followed an oath and the shuffling of feet. A 
scream was stifled. 

Chavannes tore his hair and cursed. Saul 
lighted another match, thrust it in the excited 
lover’s hand, and in two bounds was standing 
astride the big stone upon which his friend had 
been sitting. Bending down, lie grasped the rock 
upon either side and heaved. Up it came, noise¬ 
lessly, revealing a natural trap-door into which 
it fitted perfectly, and which gave into Margot 
LaTour’s prison chamber. Dropping to one knee, 
Brentlev swung his heavy Colts forward. But 
Chavannes’ hand fell upon his shoulder. 

“The Bearded Devil is mine!” he rasped out, 

4 ‘ remember your promise! ’ ’ 

A second later he had dropped to the room 

below. „ . _ ^ , . 

Brentley lay at length and viewed the scene, his 
weapon ready and finger on trigger. He paid no 
heed to the general appearance of the chamber, 
for the actors in the drama which speedily un¬ 
folded claimed all his attention. The old crone 
was huddled back against the wall farthest away, 
her bony hands clasped under her sharp chin, her 
withered lips moving in wordless protest at the 
scene before her. Crushed back and held down 
upon a couch near Sis Tomperby was Margot, 
struggling in the grip of Mack Leek as meiiec- 
tually as a mouse might under a lion’s paw. The 
big outlaw, keeping the girl prostrate with one 
hand, employed the other in saturating a hand¬ 
kerchief with the contents of a small bottle. I his 
handkerchief he had rudely thrust against her 



300 


A BLUEGRASS CAVALIER 


nostrils, when something befell which the watch¬ 
ing Saul could scarcely believe, even though he 
saw it. 

With one leap Chavannes was by the bandit’s 
side. His right hand went out to the collar of the 
big man’s coat, and the next instant his great 
body seemed to fly backward through the air. At 
the least, it went reeling the entire length of the 
cave and brought up at the jagged slit overlook¬ 
ing the river. What was in the Frenchman’s 
slender, graceful form to accomplish such a feat 
Brentley could not guess, for the huge bulk he 
handled thus easily must have weighed near to 
three hundred pounds. 

4 ‘Go, my beloved!” cried Chavannes, pointing 
to the rescuing arms which Saul intuitively 
dropped through the hole. “He is our friend!” 

“Oh, Gaston!” cried Margot, all but hysterical 
with surprise and a sense of relief. “But you?” 

“Presently. I have a little work to do first. 
Hurry, my own 1 ’ ’ 

She obeyed him, not understanding fully, but 
gladly submitting to his will. Holding up her 
arms trustingly, she let Brentley draw her to 
safety. 

“Oh, why does my Gaston stay?” she implored. 

“I think to fight, lady,” replied Brentley, real¬ 
izing no falsehood would serve, as she would hear 
sounds of conflict. 

‘ ‘ Ask him to come wizout zat! ’ ’ pleaded Margot. 
* 6 I wish it not! ’ ’ 

“ ’Twould be useless. ... Sit to one side, 
and rest. I must watch, and should Gaston need 
it a ball from my revolver will fly to his rescue.” 

The poor girl flung an arm across her eyes and 
sank to the ground, moaning softly, and then Saul 
knew that the hag was standing just beneath, 
signaling distressfully with her hands. So pres- 



THE FIGHT 


301 


ently she was crouching beside Margot, comfort¬ 
ing her with word and touch, and saying many 
beautiful things of the lover who had so gallantly 
and fearlessly come to her rescue. 

During the brief time which had intervened 
from the moment he was hurled backward until 
Margot was lifted from view, Leek seemed in a 
sort of daze, as though the thing which had just 
occurred to him were totally incomprehensible. 
He stood with his broad back partly covering the 
narrow fissure, blinking as one who rouses quickly 
from deep slumber. And he was blinking at 
Chavannes—the almost dandified-looking young 
Frenchman with the white, strained face and 
burning eyes. Gaston had thrown off his dark 
velvet coat as Margot made her ascent, and sub¬ 
sequently rolled his sleeves to his elbows. Then 
from a hidden sheath on his left hip he drew the 
Spanish stiletto with its eight-inch blade, a hilt 
♦of some dark, carved wood, and a handle of 
wrought brass. 

4 ‘Beast, are you armed?” 

He asked the question in modulated accents 
which were hard as steel. 

Leek did not answer in words, but his face 
cleared of the stupid expression, and a glare of 
hate and vindictiveness shone in his eyes. He 
felt within his shirt and produced a knife, much 
smaller than the one of which Brentley had dis¬ 
armed him. 

“ ’Twill serve,” came the icy voice again. 
“Were it long as a sword it would not avail you 
this day. Mine is longer, but yours is broader. 
So let us call it even.” 

A swift shadow of fear crossed the rather heavy 
features of the giant. He failed to understand 
what the chalk-faced fool was driving at who stood 
there in a careless attitude and used such queer 



302 A BLUEGRASS CAVALIER 


“words. So lie began to twist his beard into a 
rope—his most characteristic action when angered 
or perplexed. And as he twined and turned it 
around his hand he eyed Chavannes craftily. 

Gaston advanced one foot and slowly bent for¬ 
ward from the waist. 

“ Guard yourself!” he hissed. 

Then scarcely before the watcher overhead 
could quite grasp the action the Frenchman had 
dashed forward with a lightning sweep of his 
arm and was back where he had formerly stood, 
swaying his graceful body from one foot to the 
other, a set, fixed smile which showed his teeth 
upon his face. Brentley’s mouth fell open in 
astonishment at the fury and rapidity of the at¬ 
tack. When he glanced at the bandit it was to 
see one ear gone, sliced neatly from his head, while 
blood was running into the big man’s beard and 
dripping from it. Again the smiling figure in the 
ruffled white silk shirt charged. His antagonist 
attempted to meet this rush, but even as he raised 
his arm to strike or parry, his elusive foe had cut, 
and was back out of reach. And the giant’s cheek 
lay open from ear to nostril as neatly as though 
a skilled butcher had been at work. A thrill of 
horror ran through Saul. Was his outraged 
friend really going to hew his enemy down in 
strips! Even though the provocation had been 
great, such a procedure as this would be barbar¬ 
ous. Brentlev thrust his head further through 
the hole, so that his words would not reach the 
still sobbing Margot, and spoke. 

‘ ‘ Don’t murder him by inches, my comrade! It 
would be inhuman! You have cause for thanks¬ 
giving, for the flower of your heart is safe and 
unhurt. Be merciful, and finish it quickly! ” 

He talked rapidly and earnestly, and he knew 
he was heard, for the one addressed stood only a 



THE FIGHT 


303 


few feet away. But not once did Gaston turn his 
head, or give any indication that he was aware of 
being spoken to. He merely smiled in that ghastly 
way, and swayed from foot to foot, and watched 
the man he knew was in his power. 

Mack Leek knew it too. His eyes had grown 
large and round, and terror shone in them. His 
glance was not steady like his opponent’s, but 
roved about the narrow place as though searching 
for some way of escape. He even turned in des¬ 
peration to the rent in the stone next the river, 
to find that it was only a prison window. He was 
trapped. His career was ended, and he realized 
it. Suddenly, with a movement unexpected and 
remarkably dextrous, he hurled his knife at the 
man facing him. The distance could not have 
been over a dozen feet and the rapidity of the 
cast was marvelous. Saul felt his spine creep as 
he witnessed it. How it was done he could never 
tell, but Gaston eluded the Hying steel. Then he 
leaped straight at the outlaw, and this time he did 
not retreat. Agile and sinuous, he clung to the 
burly form of the man who had wronged him. At 
times their legs were entwined, again he seemed 
to sit astride his foe’s waist, and again to kneel 
on his shoulders. In vain Leek tore with his hands 
and beat with his fists. He could not shake off 
this vengeance which had overtaken him. 

Saul, sickened, closed his eyes and drew back, 
then lay with his body covering the hole so as 
to muffle and deaden any sound below which might 
affront the ears of a sensitive maid. Listening 
closely himself, he heard the fall which came soon 
thereafter. Following it quickly was the com¬ 
posed voice of his fellow-adventurer. 

“Take the bundles first, my boy, the young 
lady’s and her old friend’s. Then lend me a 
hand and we ’ll be going. ’ ’ 



304 A BLUEGRASS CAVALIER 


This was done, then Saul rolled the stone back 
into the opening, and presently the little party 
of four were passing through the corridor toward 
the ravine where Dhu kept watch. 

And back in the small chamber where his sins 
had exacted their toll, the lifeless body of Mack 
Leek lay in a grander sarcophagus than any king 
or emperor has ever known. 



XXIV 


Bringing to our hero a severe blow, and asking 
all who would listen to lovers’ twaddle to go moon¬ 
ing with them in an orchard all abloom. 

There was great rejoicing late that afternoon 
when four riders drew rein under the big sugar 
tree in Captain Pembroke’s front yard. Margot 
and Sis Tomperby had been mounted on the horses 
which Saul and Gaston had ridden, but these 
doughty and resourceful young gentlemen had 
secured other horses along the road, which ac¬ 
counted for the arrival of the entire party in the 
manner stated. There were embraces and kisses 
and tears and laughter and felicitations and ques¬ 
tions endless. And later there was a spread in 
the dining-room where merriment and joyous feel¬ 
ing reigned. It was here that Saul, sitting across 
from his Dorothy, whither she had wisely placed 
him so that she might eat in peace—for well the 
little minx knew he would be attempting to hold 
her hand every minute—it was here that Saul, I 
say, catching the inconstant eye of his inamorata, 
winked his own and inclined his head surrepti¬ 
tiously toward the back porch, where the broken¬ 
winged mockingbird dwelt. Naturally Mistress 
Dorothy could not begin to understand such mys¬ 
terious signs as these, and she only looked at Saul 
in a perplexed way, making the poor fellow blush. 

Nevertheless, when the long meal was over 
Brentley watched his opportunity and slipped out 
a side door to the rendezvous. And there, bless 
you, the lady was already waiting, poking crumbs 


306 


A BLUEGRASS CAVALIER 


through the bars of the cage to her pet! I would 
like to say that now followed a period of utter 
silence for at least sixty seconds, which is a round 
minute, but being no judge of such matters I can 
only say that at last there was the unmistakable 
sound of lips parting, the like of which cannot 
be duplicated by any other known sound, and then 
came a heavy sigh, or two blended, mayhap. 

She: 44 Aren’t you ashamed to keep a lady 
waiting ?” 

He: “My darling!” 

She: “Does that answer my question?” 

He: “I came at the first chance. And you 
pretended not to know!” 

She: 44 Know what ?’ ’ 

He: “That I wanted to tryst with you here.” 

She: “I didn’t know. Was that why you made 
a face at me at table ? ’ ’ 

He: (laughing happily) “That’s exactly why.” 

She: “I always give Mocker his supper.” 

He: “I didn’t think birds ate after night!” 

She: (stamping) 4 4 Do you doubt my word, sir ? ” 

He: (foolishly) 44 I’d as soon doubt yonder 
moon! ’ ’ 

She: (tittering) 44 Or be a dog, and bay it?” 

He: (clasping her) 44 Oh, you adorable girl!” 

She: (calmly) 4 4 How can I feed Mocker with my 
arms held?” 

He: 44 Bother Mocker! Let the poor fellow 
sleep and listen to me.” 

She put her head back till his chin sank in her 
soft hair. 

“I believe you are inclined to be masterful in 
your ways,” she said. 

He took one deep breath, but hesitated no longer 
in his reply. 

4 4 When we are married, dear, I will be master. 
I do not mean by this that I will be overbearing 



IN AN ORCHARD A-BLOOM 


307 


or headstrong. We shall take counsel together, 
as every man and woman who truly love should, 
but I am to be head of the home which we shall 
establish.” 

The girl trembled in his arms, sighed gently, 
then relaxed against him. There were a few sec¬ 
onds of silence. 

‘ 4 Don’t you think Margot and Gaston will want 
the portico or the parlor to themselves?” asked 
Saul. 

He saw her head nod. 

“Then let us go out to the orchard, where we 
went once before. I want to talk to you, about 
ourselves, and the future. You may have my 
coat if it grows too chilly.” 

She lifted her face, lovely indeed, and sweetly 
serious now, touched as with the reflection of 
some wonderful spiritual glow. 

“I want to talk to you, too—about things,” she 
replied, and a qualm shot through him, for he 
thought he knew what she meant. 

They left the porch and went around the rear 
of the house, where the quarters were, and on 
across the bluegrass carpet to the picket gate in 
the orchard fence. The air was faintly fragrant 
with peach and apple blossoms, and a dewy in¬ 
cense floated up from the ground. 

Saul spoke slow. 

“Surely there is a place where we may sit? I 
know you must come here often.’ ’ 

“Yes, there's a settle yonder—just a little 
way.” 

When they had found it- 

“Will you go back with me soon, my sweet¬ 
heart?” asked Brentley, tenderly folding her to 
him. “My mission is done which you gave me to 
perform, and I've a feeling that I did wrong in 
leaving father.” 



308 


A BLUEGRASS CAVALIER 


“How strange it seems to hear such words,’’ 
she murmured. “But they are sweet to my ears. 
And there is only one thought to mar my happi¬ 
ness this hour.” 

“I know. You want it all made plain why I 
left home because of a girl, don’t you!” 

“I have believed all you have told me, but I 
cannot help wondering.” 

Saul pressed one of her warm palms to his 
cheek and held it there. 

“It was merely the folly of a rather reckless 
youth, my Dorothy. I can’t tell you how I regret 
it now. And I foolishly plighted troth with her 
before I left.” 

“Oh!” 

“You’re getting all the truth, little girl. I 
thought I loved her, truly. When I met you I 
realized I didn’t. It is quite simple, after all. 
Of course her pride will suffer for a while, but 
I don’t think her nature deep enough to feel the 
hurt long.” 

“But her people, her family, will they not-” 

‘ ‘ She has no one but a half-way sort of relative 
who keeps a tavern near our plantation.” 

His cheeks were burning with honest shame, but 
he did not falter or attempt any sort of subter¬ 
fuge. 

Dorothy’s shoulders quivered as she sat erect 
and shook away the arms which held her. 

“Keeps a tavern!” she echoed. 

“Yes, and the girl serves at the bar. There! 
You have it all! . . . Wait!—wait!” 

For Miss Pembroke had jumped to her feet and 
was running swiftly from him between the rows 
of blooming trees. Springing up, Brentley pur¬ 
sued her, calling beseechingly: “For heaven’s 
sake, Dorothy, stay one moment!” 

Possibly it was the distressed note in his voice 
which worked upon her; perhaps it was her idea 



IN AN ORCHARD A BLOOM 309 


to stop anyway if he asked her to; but at any 
rate she became still and awaited him without 
turning. He stood by her side, but did not touch 
her. 

“ Are you going to condemn me because I was 
honest with you ? ’ ’ he asked, in gentle rebuke. 4 4 1 
know what you are thinking; that I have turned 
from a barmaid of whom I have tired to you— 
the daughter of a large landholder and an aristo¬ 
crat. You are wrong to judge me thus. That 
girl has no earthly claim upon me other than a 
silly promise exacted at the moment of leaving. 
Our affair was of short duration, and I saw her 
only a few times alone. And I will swear to you 
by everything I hold sacred that my feeling for 
you is as far above that I had for her as the stars 
are above us both this instant.” 

Dorothy stood with laced fingers and bowed 
head, knowing within her heart that she would 
yield, yet femininely loathe to indicate in any 
way her submission. Saul continued: 

“Come back; sit down and let’s have an under¬ 
standing. Be fair as you are beautiful and I will 
ask for nothing else. How could I know that 
womanly perfection lived just a night’s journey 
down the river? Else I never would have looked 
twice at Jinsy Galory!” 

“Galory!” 

The word burst explosively from the lips of 
the startled girl, and she flung her hand to her 
temple in a gesture of distress. For the story 
which her Aunt Mehitabel had told her but a 
short time ago, and upon which she had brooded 
so much when alone, was revivified and given new 
meaning now. She stood silent, trying to think; 
trying to order her confused thoughts. 

Saul’s fingers closed around her arm. 

‘ ‘ What is it ? And why did you repeat the name 



310 


A BLUEGRASS CAVALIER 


as though you were familiar with it?” Then, as 
she neither stirred nor answered: 66 Let’s go back 
to the settle and have an understanding. I am 
penitent for that escapade, which has harmed, 
and will harm, no one. And I love you—you! 
Surely you cannot doubt my devotion for a mo¬ 
ment? It is unseemly in a man to speak of what 
lie has done, but you thrust it on me. Do you 
think it but a holiday affair to find Margot and 
bring her safely to your home? Be just, sweet 
lady, and listen to your heart. Sometimes it is 
far wiser than the head, and I believe that I need 
its counsel with you this moment. Does that joy¬ 
ous second by the old spinet count for nothing? 
And shall we cast away as though it had never 
been that happy hour on the stair landing last 
night, as you gave me the unspeakable bliss of 
your dear arms when I had fought for yout When 
my love almost made me forget my waiting com¬ 
rade on the river cliffs? Ah, love! You cannot 
but know I am true, and if my confession has 
pained you my loyal love will "quickly heal the 
wound. So come, and we will straighten out all 
tangles, as those who trust each other should. 
We must not part to-night until we are in full 
accord.’ ’ 

So reasonably and so convincingly did he plead, 
and withal so sweetly, that Dorothy meekly 
turned and walked back with him. When they 
were seated again: 

‘ ‘ And do you forgive me ?’ 9 he said. 

She nodded dumbly, but the bright moonlight 
showed lines on her pure forehead, and her 
troubled eyes were staring hard at her knees. 

“Then smile at me, little Sober Face, and laugh 
a bit if you can! ’ ’ 

She whirled with lifted chin and raised her 
hands to his shoulders. 



IN AN ORCHARD A-BLOOM 


311 


‘ ‘W)hy are none exempt from pain and misery, 
Saul? Tell me !” 

“My sweet, don’t let what I have said be such 
a heavy weight upon yon. Indeed-” 

“It’s not that. It’s something else. Why can’t 
all people be good, so that other innocent people 
might be happy?” 

Brentley ran his fingers through his hair in a 
puzzled way. 

‘ ‘ That is a question which I doubt if the wisest 
man in the world could answer, and you have put 
it to a very plain-witted person who is already 
more than a mite confused by the beauty of a girl 
and the magic of moonlight.” He smiled and 
covered her hands with his. “Let’s not bother 
this night with such deep matters. Let’s be just 
happy, and talk foolishness.” 

He tried to draw her closer, but she resisted 
gently, her face still shadowed. 

“I must tell you something first, Saul, and— 
and—it will hurt. ’ ’ 

A sickening thrill swept over Brentley as he 
heard. Could it be possible this fair young be¬ 
ing’s life held a secret which she felt she must 
reveal before wholly accepting his declared love? 
Could this perfumed flower of a woman which he 
had already enshrined sacredly in his heart have 
a spotted petal? It was impossible! With this 
conviction he threw off the numbing weight which 
was settling upon him, breathed deeply, and said: 

“I am listening, dear. I think I could hear a 
death sentence from your lips, and smile.” 

She dropped her hands to her lap and began to 
move them nervously, one over the other. 

“I don’t know how to tell you—how to begin. 
I’ve never spoken of such things to a man. But— 
you must know, somehow.” She ceased for a 
moment, then went on hurriedly. “I was talking 




312 


A BLUEGRASS CAVALIER 


to Aunt Hittie about you, and—and—how I liked 
you lots, and she said I had better be mighty 
careful because—because she mistrusted men. 
And—she said—twenty years ago—a—a—a 
Brentley did an awful wrong to a poor woman 
near here, then ran away and left her. She was 
afraid that—and the woman’s name was Galory— 
Kitty Galory!” 

Dorothy, with a gulp in her throat, turned her 
back, flung her arms out along the settle and hid 
her burning face in them. 

Saul sat like an image of stone. For the soft, 
odorous, radiance-filled night had suddenly grown 
black. Gradually his vision cleared, but the dam¬ 
ning truth remained, naked and horrible. The 
story then was true which he had heard at Hills¬ 
boro one night between midnight and morning, 
when a young blade with a turn for malicious 
sayings had told him of his father’s defection and 
been soundly whipped for his pains. And Fate 
had exacted the penalty, for Jinsy Galory was 
his father’s daughter—the daughter he had de¬ 
serted before her tiny heart began to beat! This 
sudden revelation, with all which it entailed, fell 
like a crushing physical blow upon young Brent¬ 
ley. He groaned as a strong man might when 
hurt to the heart, then bent over with his palms 
to his face, and sobbed unashamed. 

It was then the lover-soul of Dorothy awoke to 
its full nobility. Forgetting her own sorrow, 
which was a trivial one indeed in the presence of 
his, she cast herself on her knees before the man 
and wound her arms about his neck and smoothed 
his hair and cuddled her cheek against his ear, 
crooning sweet meaningless words at first, as her 
black mammy had done to her in childhood, then 
whispering fervent sentences which calmed the 
tumult in the mind so beset by emotion. Then, 



IN AN ORCHARD A-BLOOM 


313 


when she saw he had control again, Dorothy 
ceased speaking, and crouched with his head held 
tightly to her neck. 

A beetle went droning by on its aimless journey, 
recking not nor knowing what it missed in being 
free from the woes and blisses of humankind. 
Enough for it the brief evolution from egg to 
larva, from larva to beetle. A burrow in the 
warm brown earth; a series of days and nights 
with constant buzzing here and there—then back 
to dust to begin again the endless cycle. Likewise 
the heavy-bodied gray moth which hovered for a 
moment over Dorothy’s misty crown, then lab¬ 
ored blindly on to what bourne it knew not. 

It was the girl’s voice which said: 

“My Saul!” 

He drew her to him with the hand which lay 
on her shoulder. 

“ I do love you—all of me—and if there is any¬ 
thing to forgive, I forgive you,” she continued. 
“You poor boy! How sorry I was to have to tell 
you, but it had to come. You understand, don’t 
you, and think I did right ? ’ ’ 

Her voice was tenderly plaintive, and stirred 
the listener strangely. 

“Yes, you were right. I’m trying to realize it. 
Why men of my father’s birth, descent and posi¬ 
tion should so far forget—oh, it’s monstrous! 
And the other part, that I should have thought 
I loved this girl. ’ ’ He carefully released her arms 
and sat erect, “What are you going to do now?” 
he concluded. 

“What am I going to do?”—bewildered. 

“About all this mess into which I have dragged 
you ? ’ ’ 

“Why—just—love you as hard as I can, that’s 
all!” 

After a few moments: 



314 


A BLUEGEASS CAVALIER 


“And you’ll go back home with me, and marry 
me? I’ve promised dad not to wed without his 
consent, you know.’ 9 

“Father wouldn’t let me travel so far without a 
chaperone, and I couldn’t run away. He’s been 
so good to me always.” 

“I fancy company will not be lacking, for if 
Gaston and Margot be not traveling soon, then 
the signs I’ve observed ever since they met must- 
go for naught.” 

“Margot must rest at least a week after her 
terrible experience, and really I should try and 
persuade her to stay for a month or two.”" 

Saul smiled in satisfied content. 

“It’s a rare little tease that I’ve found, isn’t 
it? Beg all you wish. I’ll warrant the tongue of 
a certain Chavannes will have greater weight than 
all your prattling. And if they are not ready to 
take the eastbound coach before your seven days 
have sped—I miss my guess, that’s all.” 

Her head went to his shoulder, and she drew his 
arm under hers, around her waist. 

“Do you suppose they could possibly be as 
silly as we?” she wanted to know. 

“It is difficult to believe, but they might. There 
are certain speeches and actions which belong to 
all people in our condition, you know. For in¬ 
stance” (kiss) “none were ever known to object 
to that” (kiss) “who were truly” (kiss) “in love. 
And I venture to assert that if they are favored 
by fortune as we are tonight, then Margot’s head 
is either on Gaston’s shoulder or his breast, and 
that if his arm is around her waist hers is at least 
around his neck.” 

“You know I can’t reach your neck, Saul!” 

“Certainly not. I was speaking of our other 
lovers.” 



IN AN ORCHARD A-BLOOM 


315 


Passed an indeterminate period of silence. At 
last there came, drowsily: 

“Saul!” 

“Yes, darling.” 

“I was ’most asleep.” 

‘ ‘ Mnstn’t sleep in the moonlight; it makes peo¬ 
ple foolish.” 

“S’pose they’re already foolish!” 

“It makes them foolisher.” 

A contented sigh, and another silence, briefer 
than the first. 

“Saul!” 

“Yes, sweet.” 

“Why do they call it honeymoon!” 

“Why—why—just because it is one, I reckon, 
dearie. ’ ’ 

This time it was a yawn, followed by complete 
relaxation. She lay against his side, her body 
fitted to his. A third time, barely audible: 

“Saul!” 

“Yes, little girl.” 

‘ ‘ Will we have one! ’ ’ 

“One what, my precious!” 

‘ 4 Honey—moon. ’ ’ 

“Indeed we will!” 

And when Brentley bent his head to look a few 
minutes later he saw she was asleep in his arms. 



XXV 


Ending our story happily; and trusting the 
reader ivill agree with the author that a certain 
Will Shakespeare wrote passing wisely when he 
averred “All’s well that ends well.” 

It was another morning in April, and Colonel 
Shadrach Brentley was sitting by his desk in the 
big front room facing the river. The hour was 
not as early as upon the day this story opened, 
neither was Colonel Shad racked by the acute 
misery which possessed him then. D,r. Van Wyck’s 
opinion, for all the sufferer ’s disbelief, had proven 
correct, and the gouty foot had steadily improved. 
So when we again view the Colonel at about nine 
o ’clock in the morning, it is to find him compara¬ 
tively free from pain after a good night and a 
breakfast which he had eaten with relish, although 
the cantankerous foot was still swathed and rest¬ 
ing upon a pillow-topped hassock. The master 
had just rolled and lighted a cigarette, and with 
the same match was consuming a sheet of paper 
wdiich he had taken from a pigeon-hole in his 
desk, and which bore his own handwriting. This 
paper was the document which he had prepared 
for his son to sign, and which the young man had 
refused to do. 

Came a knock on the door. The Colonel invited 
an entrance, but did not take his eyes from the 
burning paper, held by one corner. The door 
opened and closed and steps crossed the room. 
The Colonel dropped the charred fragrant on his 
broad silver ash tray and turned his head. His 
son stood before him. 


316 


ENDING OUR STORY HAPPILY 317 


“I want to apologize to you, dad,” said Saul, 
‘ 4 for my actions and my words before I left home. 
I want to tell you I am truly sorry, and ask your 
pardon. Is it granted ?” 

Colonel Shad gazed upon the upstanding, manly 
fellow who bore his name. Pride tinged his face. 
He smiled and stretched out his hand. 

‘ ‘ Welcome home, my boy! Perhaps there is an¬ 
other who should ask pardon of some one, too.” 

Saul’s eyes shone with gladness as he clasped 
his sire’s hand in both of his. 

“No—no—sir! I was wrong. But how good 
it is to hear you say 6 welcome home ’! ” 

“I’ve missed you,” replied the Colonel, simply, 
reaching for his smoking materials. 

“And the gout’s better?” questioned Saul, 
cheerily, drawing a chair nearer his father, and 
sitting. 

“Oh, yes. Van Wyck’s not quite the fool I 
thought him. Your aunt tells me she had a letter, 
mailed from Cedarton.” 

“Yes, I’ve been down in that part of the coun¬ 
try, and have had quite an adventure of which 
I’ll tell you later. Just now I want to talk to you 
about—about the cause of all this trouble. ’ ’ 

Following his sentence a keen embarrassment 
gripped both father and son. Colonel Shad tried 
to hide his by fingering over his half-made cigar¬ 
ette, but he quickly squared his shoulders and 
faced the issue. He said: 

“Yes, let’s talk it over and be done with it. 
Allow me, if you please, to speak first. You prob¬ 
ably do not know that the last name of the girl 
had never reached my ears. The day after you 
left I sent for her. I was sick, in pain, and half¬ 
crazy. When I first saw her she gave me a fear¬ 
ful shock, for she was the reincarnation of a 
woman I had known in my reckless youth. I 



318 A BLUEGRASS CAVALIER 


asked her name, all of it, and she told me. ’ ’ He 
stopped, raised one slender hand to cheek and 
forehead so that his face was shaded before he 
went on. “My boy, that accusation you hurled 
in my face the day you were so angry, is true. I 
did yield to a base passion when I should have 
been strong, and Jinsy Galory is my child. I told 
her the truth, and the scene which ensued was 
harrowing indeed. She loved you, and the thought 
of giving you up tore her cruelly. I comforted 
her as well as I could, and bade her say nothing 
to anyone, but come back the next day. I spent 
the night on the problem, fighting remorse and 
planning for her. I wanted to do for her what 
was best under the circumstances. She was calm 
the next morning and we talked in friendly way. 
She was amenable, and accepted the situation with 
far more grace than I had supposed she would. 
She is now in a school in Boston, as my niece. 
I shall of course provide for her as long as she 
lives, unless she marries.” 

This confession was not an easy one for a father 
to make to his son, and the Colonel’s voice showed 
the strain under which he was laboring. When 
it was finished there was a long silence. 

‘ ‘ I don’t know that there is anything for me to 
say, sir,” Saul’s voice came at last. “I think 
you did exactly right in looking after Jinsy, but, 
as far as I am concerned, I had already found 
out that my affection for her was not what I had 
thought it to be.” 

Colonel Shad smiled wanly, and dropped his 
hand. 

“Emmeline delivered your message, which, I 
confess, pleased me. But there are usually causes 
for such abrupt changes. She did not indicate 
that you mentioned any reasons. ’ ’ 



ENDING OUR STORY HAPPILY 319 


Saul’s face grew hot, and he rubbed his knees 
together while trying to find a suitable reply. 

I yon know, sir, I promised not to marry 
any girl without your consent!” he blurted out, 
in frank confusion. 

“Very true. But we are not discussing matri¬ 
mony now.” 

No, sir, but—but I believe we’ll have to get 
on the subject.” 

The Colonel’s eyes widened. Saul went on des¬ 
perately. 

“Did you ever hear of the Pembrokes, sir, down 
in King County?” 

“I think not”—carefully. 

“They’re fine folks, dad, ’pon my honor! And 
you see I’m in love with Dorothy and she with 
me, and I want your consent and blessing.” 

Colonel Shad was not devoid of humor, and this 
most excellent quality crept to his brain as he 
listened to his son’s fervent outburst. 

“This is extraordinary, my boy! Could I con¬ 
scientiously agree to such a thing when I had 
never seen the young lady? Maybe you’re being 
roped in?” 

Saul flushed, and rose. 

“You may judge for yourself, dad. She is 
here.” 

‘ ‘ What! ’ ’ 

“With Aunt Emmeline. We came to Hillsboro 
chaperoned by two others of whom you shall hear 
duly, and drove down together this morning. 
May I ask her in?” 

Now the master of the plantation frowned and 
began flicking stray bits of ash from his dressing- 
gown. 

“Hardly in fit attire to meet a bride-to-be, am 
I? But if you wish, why-” 

Saul was .gone. 



320 


A BLUEGRASS CAVALIER 


When he reappeared he was leading by the 
hand grace and beauty united in one charming 
girl figure. At least she seemed so to Colonel 
Shad as she came smiling toward him, a little 
maidenly timidity apparent, but no artificial hold¬ 
ing back. 

“Father,” said Saul, his voice vibrant with 
pride, “this is Dorothy Pembroke, whom I love 
and wish to marry.” 

A rich glow spread over the maiden’s face when 
she heard this and her lips trembled, but her hand 
went out to meet the one held toward her. 

“Pardon me for not rising to greet you,” said 
Colonel Shad, in his most courtly tones. i 6 My son 
tells me he has the impudence to love you. ’ ’ 

Dorothy gave a fluttering sort of laugh. 

“Yes, sir; I think he means it.” 

“And you are silly enough to love him?” 

“I can’t help it.” 

“And you want the blessing of a broken old 
man?” 

“We seek my father’s blessing,” replied Saul, 
gravely. 

They knelt by his chair, and Colonel Shad put 
a hand which trembled upon each head. 

“May you ever walk in the light of love, my 
children, which will never fail if kept burning by 
the lamp of truth. Never let the cloak of suspi¬ 
cion shadow your mutual trust. Live in and for 
each other, and your days will be happy. . . . 

Now I would be alone.” 

In silence the lovers withdrew, as from a sanc¬ 
tuary, while Colonel Shad, with eyes grown moist, 
sat staring at the snowy curtains which rose and 
fell at the embrasured window. 


THE END. 













































































